


Conditional Release

by Anna_Wing



Series: Vignettes of the Blessed Realm [10]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Gen, Happy Ending, Humour, The Silmarillion AU where everything goes right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 24,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Wing/pseuds/Anna_Wing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Valar make a decision about the conditions of Melkor's release from Mandos which is in my view rather better than the one that They actually made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the Valar make a decision about the conditions of Melkor's release from Mandos which is in my view rather better than the one that They actually made.

The Valar considered the latest proposal in (what in a less august body might have been called flummoxed) silence. Vana the Ever-Young, Lady of Life Renewed was of course _supposed_ to produce creative, innovative, out-of-the-Song solutions, it was what She was all about. And this one had come at the tail-end of an exceptionally fraught and wearisome discussion. But still. And also, however. And even, nonetheless.

Her elder sister was of course the one who spoke first, Her branches rustling in delicate, inexorable rhythm.

"An excellent idea. Can it be done?"

Aule, loyally backing up His spouse, said immediately, "Angainor is already a chain, re-shaping It into a collar is perfectly feasible. There'll even be enough material left over to add a little bell...". He fished in the pocket hanging from His belt for His tablet and began making notes.

Irmo, getting into the spirit of things, said, "The containment function could perfectly well be re-Sung to suit a new body..." 

Vaire said, quite mildly (silence fell again at once), "Before We consider the logistics, We really should first discuss whether or not to do it. Though of course whether it can be done at all is something that must be taken into account in Our final decision."

They thought about it, individually and in combination. Laurelin waned towards the Mingling, and They took a break to listen to Melian singing Her waking song, away in the Gardens of Lorien. Aule unpacked the latest snacks from the School of Applied and Theoretical Gastronomy in Tirion and passed them round to those Valar who were presently anthropomorphic, and Orome, who was being a Wolfhound. Tulkas and Nessa produced several bottles of wine, and distributed pottery cups (and a large bowl). After a swig, Tulkas said, "We have to let Him out if He says He's sorry. We promised."

Orome growled, but quietly, in deference to the Hour; the hill Ezellohar upon which they were all variously disposed barely vibrated. Nessa refilled His bowl and scratched His ears; His tail thumped gently in response.

Varda said, "Our brother is correct. We have no choice but to release Him when the three Ages appointed have passed, if He fulfils the conditions that We imposed. Our word was given, and must be kept." There was, eventually, reluctant agreement. Even those Valar of pragmatic disposition, and least well-disposed towards the subject of discussion, understood the concept of long-term moral credibility perfectly well.

Everyone looked at Namo and Vaire, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bright grass. The Weaver shrugged, a minimal, sceptical movement. Namo said, "He has not said or done anything to indicate that He is not in fact repentant of His deeds. Nonetheless I do not trust Him."

Ulmo, attending in His normal shape, (this time, a spring bubbling from between Telperion's giant buttress roots, in which the wine had been cooling), produced a nasty, glopping sound eloquent of scornful agreement.

Nessa said, "Well. Who does? I think Vana's idea is a good one. We do have to let Him out as We promised, but We didn't promise that it would be unconditional, did We? And I think that this is a perfectly reasonable condition. He won't be harmed, He will still be very attractive, He will still be able to interact with anyone as He likes, and His capacity to do harm will be limited by the body."

Irmo said, "It is perfectly feasible, if Yavanna can adjust Angainor's specifications to enforce the form upon Him." His spouse nodded. "Este and I would be happy to look after Him while he settles into His new form. It's not as if the Gardens don't have plenty of predators already."

The pressure of Nienna's silence became noticeable at that point; there was an expectant pause. The Lady of Sorrows said, with Her usual gentleness,

"I agree with Vana. It would be a helpful and therapeutic period of re-socialisation to Our company, and an opportunity for positive re-acquaintance and interaction with the Children, in a form that will not cause them alarm or stress. If He is truly reformed, He will accept this and co-operate fully. If He is not, it will be much harder for Him to influence the Children negatively in that shape; He will have to win them by getting them to _like_ him, rather than overawing them into compliance." Her smile was not gentle. Nienna's province was Mercy, not Stupidity. 

Yavanna said, "And it will be very much harder for Him to hide His true feelings about, well, anything, given the instincts inherent in that form."

Everyone understood Orome's growl in response, "Agreed. Not so scary when you're sitting there licking your own bum." Nessa whacked Him on the head. "There's no need to be vulgar!"

A gentle breeze swirled around Them, and all attention turned to the Elder King, who had, as was His wont, remained silent while His colleagues argued Their points.

Manwe Sulimo spoke, and the leaves of the Trees shivered above Him, scattering a shimmer of silver and golden light over the assembled Powers. 

"When the three Ages of His confinement end, and if He continues to manifest repentence, Our brother Melkor shall be released from Mandos as We promised, to dwell among Us and help to undo the harm in Arda that He did in aeons past. But to aid His re-entry into Our society and that of the Children, " a faint, cool smile was sent in Nienna's direction, "He shall do so in the form that We decree, for so long as We see fit. Aule and Yavanna, design the changes to Angainor that must be made. Irmo and Namo, prepare Yourselves to bind Him in His new form. Nienna, You may inform Him of Our decision and if possible reconcile Him to it. I have considered the proposals for His form that have been made. He shall be a cat. Yavanna may choose His colour. It is so decided."


	2. In which there is an aesthetic discussion

Cats have better colour vision than people think. Melkor squinted back at himself and screamed.

"I'm _orange_!"

"A lovely colour," Nienna said, kindly but firmly. Her patience was nowhere near exhaustion (like all the Valar the Lady of Sorrows was perfectly capable of waiting for something for a geological age or ten without stressing Herself), but several Valian Years spent in the Halls of Mandos listening to variations on the theme of "This is an intolerable insult!" had left their mark.

"Yavanna chose it especially to look well. In the light of Telperion it will be a clear, amber shade, and in Laurelin's Hours it will glow a beautiful, rich gold."

 _Like the best marmalade_ , Aule had remarked when asked for His opinion by His wife. Nienna did not mention this; comparing Melkor's new appearance to confectionery was unlikely to go well.

"We did think of black, of course," She went on, inventing freely (Yavanna had done nothing of the kind; had in fact laughed immoderately and said "orange!" at once), "but as you know black cats are merely melanoform tabbies, and in Treelight the underlying stripes would be slightly visible at some angles. We thought that it would be aesthetically more pleasing for the stripes to be an obvious feature of the coat, to make it clear that they were a deliberate choice, rather than an accidental error. I do rather like the complementary shading."

"Oh." Melkor looked again. "Not bad, I suppose," he said grudgingly. He was indeed a rather handsome animal. Yavanna had done Her duty and produced an extremely attractive phenotype: large enough to be imposing (for a cat) without being unnaturally so, a short-haired, sturdy, round-headed type with flourishing white whiskers, golden-green eyes and a long, ringed tail.

"For a cat." His new tail lashed. From the startled look on His face it had been involuntary.

"It could have been worse," Nienna said in Her most neutral, 'you must come to this insight yourself' tone. "The first suggestion was to make You a hamster. They come in orange too."


	3. In which some things happen differently; this is an AU, after all

Standing on Taniquetil, Varda listened to the world, though both "standing" and "listened" are metaphors for what She was actually doing and how She was doing it:

\- From the north-west of Middle-earth came the sound of major seismic upheaval and the occasional cackle of slightly disturbing laughter. Orome and Yavanna were making progress in their re-landscaping (a euphemism for what They were doing and how They were doing it) of an old fortress of Melkor's. Utumno had been ground to pebbles under several kilometres of glacial ice, but quite recently Melian had reported the discovery by Doriathrin scouts of what looked like an inactive and previously unknown Fortress of Darkness, alarmingly close to Her home. Orome and Yavanna had gone to investigate, and stayed to enjoy Themselves. Angband, as it was apparently called (some, though not all, of its occupants had seen sense and surrendered immediately), was going to be a very pretty region of lakes and flowery meadows once the earthquakes stopped, the lava flows cooled and the giant sinkholes stabilised.

There was a significant movement of electrons in that vicinity, as one of the defenders tried to slide along the matter-energy spectrum to explosive effect. _Oh no you don't_ thought the Lady of the Stars at femtosecond speed. _**Mine** is the strong nuclear force._ The imminent fusion reaction terminated abruptly at the flick of Her will, and the hapless Balrog found itself separated from the matter-energy plane altogether, and hauled back onto the level of pure spirit. Away in His Halls, Namo's will moved instantly in response. Varda did not wait for the Balrog's reaction to the summons (obedience, resistance, futile flight); other events were drawing Her attention.

\- In the garden of their house in Valmar, the High King and Queen of All Elves were having a Serious Talk with their niece Findis. "We understand completely, dear," King Ingwe was saying. "All of us have gone through the conflict between our duties and our preferences. But you're very young yet, and you do need to spend time mastering the Song in its manifest form first, before dedicating yourself to Its spiritual cosmology."  
"Also," Queen Laurien said, "Your father and mother are at their wit's end about your brothers' nonsense, and since neither of those boys has the administrative capability of a teacup, your parents need you to be their principal assistant to make it clear that they're not playing favourites. And no, your sisters and young Finarfin are promising, but much too young for something like this. So for now, please go and do your duty as the eldest Princess of the Noldor. You will have plenty of time to come back here and study the Score when those two have grown up, or at least calmed down."

\- In Tirion, King Finwe was planning a hiking holiday with his seven grandsons. "We don't have any really comprehensive maps of the southern Pelori," he was saying, "I thought it would be nice to take a trip and do a bit of exploring around Hyarmentir, try out those new lamps of your father's."

\- In Feanor's workshop in the Halls of Aule, a large ginger cat was playing with a trio of shining stones, batting them about and pouncing after them as they rattled across the floor, scattering light in all directions as they went. After they rolled under the laboratory bench for the fifteenth time, he lost interest in fishing them out, curled up on a comfy pile of notes and went to sleep.


	4. In which Melkor makes a positive contribution

"I have been pondering," Yavanna rustled (She was being a tree again, Her favourite form for thinking), "The matter of re-lighting Middle-earth."

"Mmm," said Vana, sucking honey tidily from the stem of an ixora blossom. Melkor was sprawled on His back in the long grass at Her feet, eyes shut and paws in the air. She rubbed the soft fur of His tummy with one bare foot, and a steady, thunderous purr began vibrating through Her toes. "Cuttings?"

"No," Yavanna said, "I caught a glimpse of the new Children on My way back home, and their phenotype won't stand the Trees. If they get too close they'll be roasted. They need something safer."

Melkor yawned, showing a handsome set of fangs. "How about seeds?" He suggested, His eyes still firmly closed. "Smaller, not so radiatively intense, You could float them in the upper atmosphere, safely out of reach. You'd get better light dispersal too."

The Valier considered this. "It might work," Yavanna conceded. "I'll have a word with the Trees. Melkor, if You have any ideas for how to keep them aloft, Aule and I would be very pleased if You could share them."

Melkor yawned again. "Certainly. Later." He rolled over onto His side and began to snore gently.


	5. In which distractions continue to present themselves to Melkor

Laurelin was at Her peak, and light poured through the leaves in the orchard, gilding ripening cherries and casting golden-green shadows on Feanor and Nerdanel, taking a break from their respective workshops. Nerdanel was catching up with the latest issue of the Journal of Synthetic and Experimental Metallurgy. Feanor was sketching design ideas for his latest series of experiments in light-retaining crystals and complaining about his brother. Melkor was sitting between them in loaf position, almost invisible in the glowing shade of the leaves; His striped fur was a deeper pool of dappled gold and His jewel-green (peridot, to be exact) eyes shone like the leaves above.

"I am not exactly the person to talk to about family dynamics," He was saying sympathetically, "But it does seem that your father is less attentive to your concerns than he might be."

Feanor had opened his mouth, presumably to agree, when Melkor's ears pricked up, His head swivelled toward the nut hedge that bordered the orchard, and He came to His feet in one smooth motion.

"Excuse Me," He said, and sprang into the hedge. There was much leafy crashing about, and then a high-pitched murine shriek, abruptly cut off.

Feanor and Nerdanel looked at each other. "Short-tailed vole," Nerdanel said. Yavanna had brought a box of them some time ago and released them into the orchard ("I'll make good any damage to your bulbs"). Nerdanel had asked no questions. "He'll be a while."

"Oh," Feanor said. "I should get back to work, anyway." He picked up his notes and wandered off. Nerdanel returned to her journal.

The light had faded a little by the time Melkor came back, licking His whiskers. He sat down beside her and had a thorough wash before saying casually, "So, what we were talking about..."

"Mmm?" Nerdanel looked up. "Oh yes. My son, You know, the one who hunts with Lord Orome, brought us some new creatures he killed down south. Feanor was planning to cook them for dinner, if You would like to join us. Though if You've eaten already..."

"Just a snack," Melkor said. "Thank you, I'd be happy to share this new dish with you."

"Excellent," Nerdanel said. "Minced possum it is, then."


	6. In which things happen according to the order of nature (i.e. Vana and Yavanna)

"He's really not going to be happy about this when He returns to Himself, You know," Vaire said. There was no condemnation in Her voice.

Yavanna smiled a little. "It's a natural element of His current form, together with the prey drive and being asleep two-thirds of the time."

The two Goddesses were sitting on the slopes of Taniquetil, in a flowery meadow above Valmar. A picnic basket sat open between them, and tea kept hot in the new-style porcelain teapot (a present from Aule's Materials Science team). Telperion's silver light waned gently towards the Mingling, and from the gardens that ringed the city the distant sounds of combat rose. They had been going on for several hours now, as purely verbal confrontations had given way to tooth and claw challenges.

It was Spring, Vana's season, the time of Life Renewed, and the _kelvar_ of Valinor were conducting themselves accordingly. That included Valmar's considerable population of domestic cats.

Vaire nibbled a curry puff.

"Still, I'm not sure that this was entirely what We had in mind when We agreed to this. There wasn't any way to, er, prevent..."

Yavanna sipped Her tea. "Not without significant surgical or hormonal intrusions. When I make a body I make a _whole_ body. And it would have been quite improper to interfere with His will to that extent. I'm quite sure that _Vana_ had this in mind when She suggested putting Him in a body in the first place. All part of the reintegration process, You know. Acting in harmony with the Song, rather than trying to conduct It, that sort of thing."

"Mmmm. I suppose it won't do Him any harm." Vaire delved further into the basket.

"These ginger and custard tarts are really good."

"Yes, King Finwe is very generous about sharing recipes from the School of Applied and Theoretical Gastronomy. Aule says that they are quite the most innovative and creative of all the research groups."

A faint smile crossed the Doom-goddess' austere lips. "I do hope no-one tells Feanor!"

The shrieks of desire and defiance from below reached a furiously triumphant climax, not for the first time in the last few hours. Yavanna stretched Her legs out comfortably and bit into a custard tart.

"Anyway, You can't say that Melkor isn't enjoying Himself."


	7. In which it becomes clear that Melkor is not the only thing to worry about

King Finwe was worried. Not about the normal things, such as the stressful interpersonal problems among his highly-strung and easily-stressed relatives, or the merely annoying minor administrative matters that he had with great relief left in Indis' capable and endlessly good-humoured hands. No, this was a worry that he had thought (happily) never to feel again, here in bright, safe Valinor.

Maitimo came trotting back from the rim, Makalaure in tow. Both of them looked worried as well. Good. They were sensible lads.

"Sir, singing doesn't work either. No echo, nothing, it just swallows up everything Kano's been able to throw at it."

Finwe glanced at his second grandson. Macalaure nodded, slightly breathless. Finwe had heard (every living thing for several kilometres around had heard) his song. He had also heard the peculiar sound of an echo coming back from all directions but one.

"I still think that we should go down and see for ourselves whatever is down there," Tyelcormo said, for the fifth time, and acted on his words by striding off towards the location in question. Without having to look, Maitimo reached out a long arm and snagged his brother's blond plait as it swung past.  
"Oy!"  
"No getting yourself into trouble until Grandfather says you can."  
Tyelcormo yelped and kicked, but stopped when Maitimo took no notice.

Finwe suppressed a sigh. It had all been going so nicely. Everyone had been having a good time and not squabbling more than expected. The mapping had been very successful; they had made notes of several hundred previously unknown species of bird, mammal, insect, plant and fungus, and there had been several spots that looked very promising for interesting minerals. He had even managed not to lose Tyelcormo during the spelunking (three very good cave systems with fascinating wildlife and one with a spectacular underground lake that he rather thought would become very popular with tourists).

Then they got to Mt Hyarmentir, the agreed-upon southern limit of the expedition, and there they had found something very strange, and to Finwe's Journey-honed instincts, very sinister indeed. A narrow, downward-sloping cleft at the shadow-side base of the mountain that was ...dark. This was highly unusual. Shadows in Valinor even this far from the Trees were not that deep, given the amount of skylight always available. There was usually a pleasant twilight effect, restful and agreeable (quite a lot of people had holiday cabins built on the shadow-sides of the hills around Valmar). This valley was dark, a lightlessness that was more than the night of Cuivienen and the Journey that Finwe remembered (the stars had been so bright, shining on the water; Middle-earth had not been lightless). The cool rays of Feanor's lamps, which had had no difficulty lighting the deepest caves (Caranthir had spent the whole trip dutifully making notes on their performance in different environments), failed to penetrate more than a step or two. 

They had made camp well away from its mouth, at what Finwe sincerely hoped was a safe distance away. Just in case, he had made sure that their brush shelters were in the full light of the Trees, attenuated by distance though it was. They had explored the mountainside above the cleft, as far as possible. The slope became too steep to traverse quite soon, even with their equipment, but as far they could see (or rather, not see), the cleft continued eastwards, narrow, winding, and impenetrable to their sight. Now they had confirmed that it swallowed song too; even Macalaure's song, which was no ordinary music, even among the Eldar. Finwe had vetoed Curufinwe's suggestion of improvised explosives (really, that boy had been spending far too much time with the School of Applied and Theoretical Gastronomy; "heat it and see what happens" was all very well for soufflé but not a universally useful principle). 

“I believe that we have done all that we can at present,” he said, firmly. “We will return to Tirion, consult the loremasters, inform the Valar,” he cast a stern eye at the twins, who were beginning to look mutinous, “And prepare a larger, better-equipped expedition to investigate this very strange phenomenon.” 

Curufinwe opened his mouth. Finwe fixed him with a cold stare and he closed it again. “I believe your parents and their colleagues would also be highly interested in this, and we should certainly not go any further without inviting them to participate.”

Maitimo, good boy, backed him up loyally. “An excellent idea, Grandfather. We should leave the shelters then, we’ll need them when we come back.” He hustled his siblings off to sort out what could be left for the next expedition and pack up what they would take home, particularly the precious notes of their discoveries.

Finwe, left in peace, contemplated the increasingly worrying problem and hoped that he was only imagining that something (or Something) was watching him from the darkness, with no friendly gaze.

. . . . .

The second, much larger, Mt Hyarmentir Expedition, which included the King, Feanor, Nerdanel, their children and an assortment of scientists, mountaineers, spelunkers, and specialists in _osanwe_ , most of them also veteran scouts of the Great Journey, vanished without trace.


	8. In which there is another committee meeting

“Report,” said Varda.

The Valar had gathered in the Halls of Waiting (Vana had brought Melkor), since Vaire had advised that testimony from disembodied Eldar was more reliable, free as it was from the hormonal affections. While fear, anger and anxiety might mar the spirit, they would not have the immediacy of the flesh nor its continually distorting effect upon recollection. 

“The bad news is that all members of the expedition are dead,” Namo said, in a voice even more expressionless than usual. “The good news is that We have safely retrieved all of them and brought them here, and Nienna and Her people are with them now, taking their testimony and giving comfort and counsel as required.”

The Halls were not decoratively exciting. The effect aimed for and generally achieved was pleasant tranquility, with nothing so interesting that anyone was tempted to stay longer than necessary. As a hospitable gesture on the part of their Lord and Lady, this section was manifesting as a wide, semi-circular courtyard with a colonnade under a starry sky (the stars didn’t move, though), looking out onto a view of Mt Hyarmentir; a small fountain bubbled for Ulmo, with identical chairs arranged in a semi-circle on either side for everyone else. In courtesy to Melkor, Everyone was embodied, even Varda, and the time of Their meeting had been chosen to coincide with one of His normal periods of wakefulness.

Nienna materialised and sat down in the empty chair between Irmo and Namo. A small table appeared next to Her, with a large cup of steaming tea on it. She took a sip and said “Thank you, My dears. Our friends’ testimonies are now available.” She gestured with Her free hand towards Vaire. “You should be able to access them in full directly from the Loom.”

“Observe,” said Vaire, lifting Her hands from Her lap. A complex tangle of threads was strung between them, a small, portable version of the Loom, specialised for data from the non-material plane. She spread Her fingers, and the images of the expedition’s unfortunate members appeared for all of them, accompanied by the memories gently elicited by Nienna.

… _total absorption of all parts of the electro-magnetic spectrum that we had the equipment to generate, from gamma rays to low-frequency radio…_ (Lord Feanor, Curufin, Mistress Voronorne, mathematical physicist, Mistress Angamaite, radiologist and meteorologist)

… _in the absence of light and sound, we noted by touch some peculiar wearing of the rock walls that had no obvious explanation; it did not appear to have been produced by any form of weathering with which we had experience..._ (Mistress Istarielle, vulcanologist and Master Tyelperindo, geophysicist)

… _they left tracks in solid rock!!!_ (Tyelcormo)

… _based on the disposition of the prints, I would suggest something of the Myriapod or Chelicerate sub-phyla, though orders of magnitude larger than any species known to me. But actually I’m a lichen and arctic burrowing rodent specialist, so I wouldn’t want to be too rigid about my opinion..._ (Mistress Calondis, Director of the House of Knowledge, botanist and mammalogist)

… _a horrible, smothering feeling, like walking through jelly that really, really hates you and doesn’t want you to be there, but at the same time is sticking to you and not wanting to let you go…_ (both Ambarussa)

… _a sense of profound loathing, fear and rejection, combined with a terrible hunger and need…_ (Lady Nerdanel, materials, structural and bio-molecular engineer, Maitimo)

… _we tried to speak but our voices were eaten…_ (Macalaure, Mistress Vaiwe and Master Callasimo, specialists in _osanwe_ )

… _if I were to speculate, my Lady, I would think it or them to be of Your own people. Perhaps indeed, one or some of Melkor’s servants or partisans, but were it, or they, of my own folk, I would say with confidence that something was deeply wrong, far beyond mere malice or enmity. I would not even venture to claim them sane…_ (HM Finwe, King in Tirion, King of the Noldor)

Nienna said, “You will observe among all of them the sense of a great, cold weight upon their spirits, a weariness and indifference that sapped their wills and strength. Note also the King’s testimony that he heard Namo’s Call at first only as a little, distant chirping in the darkness, and it took him all his power to answer, and then to rouse the others to answer. “

The Judge said, “I am particularly concerned that retrieving the _fear_ of the team was indeed much harder than it should have been. Some external force was impeding their response; had it not been for their personal strength of will and the leadership of the King, it is possible that they might have been prevented from coming to Me.”

Aule said, “I have traced the cleft. While originally it was a dead-end canyon opening into Avathar, it has been extended relatively recently, certainly no more than an Age ago, presumably by the unknown agency that dwells there. It now runs all the way through the Pelori, including through several tunnels, into Valinor. My people are waking the subterranean Maiar, to seal the ways below, and also find out if They noticed anything, though it’s unlikely or They would have notified Us.”

Orome said, “I have my people backing up Ilmare and Eonwe, at both ends. Nothing’s getting out of there past Them.”

Yavanna said, “Everything along that path is dead, down to the viral level.” Her voice was very quiet, but with a deep, threatening rumble beneath . Aule patted Her arm gently, and the uneasy atmosphere calmed. Vaire shot Him a grateful glance.

Irmo said, “Our people have been doing a roll-call. It’s not any of our order resident in Aman, but that still leaves the whole of Middle-earth, and, er, Our brother’s, er, former partisans…”

Everyone looked at Melkor, even the fountain.

He was scratching his ear. After a moment He let His hind-leg thump back into place and said disdainfully, “None of _My_ people would ever be that stupid.”

“Not when You were around, perhaps,” Nessa said cheerfully, “but now that You’re here, and reformed and everything, who knows what They’re up to without Your guidance and supervision?”

Melkor licked His paw and considered this, somewhat mollified. “Perhaps,” He said at last. “But really, it sounds much more like an Abyssal to Me.”

Not all the Ainur had been keen on Singing, or the Song, or the space-time continuum that was the reified Song. There had in fact been quite a number of Ainur Who had fled the racket for the peace and quiet of the Abyss, where They were waiting with Their metaphorical fingers stuck in Their metaphorical ears, until such point as the Song should end and tranquility be restored to the wider universe.

“An Abyssal,” Varda said slowly. “That would account for some of the anomalies. An Abyssal that found Itself in the world, in a material form…”

“Probably totally off Its head, poor thing,” Tulkas said.

“It would not excuse the violence done to the Children,” Varda said (everyone carefully avoided looking at Melkor, Who was now having a wash), “but it is a possibility that We need to take into account.”

There was a pause as the Valar did so. 

The fountain bubbled. 

_How are the Eldar doing?_ asked Ulmo.

Orome said, “Queen Indis would like her husband and daughter-in-law back, the Deputy Director of the House of Knowledge desperately wants his Director back, the House wants the cutting-edge, experimental equipment that she took with her on the expedition and whatever data it recorded…”

“The Deputy Director,” Tulkas said. “Wossface.”

“Talagando,” Aule said. “From Musical Engineering. Very nice and very talented, but not really the most, um, assertive person…”

Yavanna said, “The sweetest man but couldn’t say ‘boo’ to a cabbage. I told Calondis she needed a Deputy with more gumption, but she said that he was the best administrator the House had ever had and she wasn’t giving him up. He’s certainly not going to be able to keep control of the House. They’re already planning a second expedition. “

Irmo said in distress, “That’s a terrible idea. They have no idea of the kind of trauma the first one went through.”

“They don’t seem that traumatised, all things considered,” Vaire said. “ Most of them are raring to be re-embodied, in fact. The King is upset about everyone dying and needs to get back to Tirion, Nerdanel and Feanor are upset about what happened to everyone, and the equipment and the data, Director Calondis is upset about what happened to her scholars and her equipment and data, the scholars are upset about what happened to their colleagues and their equipment and data…”

“I sense a theme”, murmured Orome to Vana. She kicked his ankle.

Namo said, “Lord Feanor. Mistress Vaiwe and Master Callasimo are collaborating on what they believe would be a successful method of resisting the effects of the Darkness. Since they are discarnate it is currently a mental technique only, but they hope upon re-embodiment to be able to realise it in material form. Using the planned second expedition to test it, of course.” 

The Valar reached consensus remarkably fast after that.

“Very well,” Varda said. “Nessa, take Orome and Melkor, investigate that passage, discover who or what is responsible for the killing of the Eldar, subdue them and bring them to the Mahanaxar for examination and judgement.”

“Oy!” Tulkas protested. “What about me?”

Varda smiled at Him. “Your offer is appreciated, Tulkas, but the mission is to secure, retrieve and identify the entity or entities responsible for these deaths, and then decide what should be done with them, not disintegrate them and scatter their constituent particles across Middle-earth.”

Nessa leaned over and kissed Her husband’s ear. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll tell You all about it when I get back.”

She jumped to Her feet. “Let’s go, Brother! Melkor, would You like a lift?”

Orome scowled. Melkor flirted His whiskers at Him and purred. “Delighted, Nessa.”

She scooped Him up and vanished in a flutter of dancer’s draperies. Yavanna said, "Stop by My house on Your way. My people have something that might help." 

Orome nodded. "Thank you, We will," He said, and followed His sister.

Varda looked over Her remaining colleagues. “Irmo and Este, please stand by. If Melkor’s and Tulkas’ speculations are correct, this entity or entities may need significant therapeutic intervention. Namo, Vaire, Nienna, thank you for your good work with the discarnate Eldar. Re-embody them, but only after fully satisfying yourselves as to their psychological health. Nienna, please tell Queen Indis that all is well with the King, and he and the rest of the family will be returned to her in due course. It is so decided.”


	9. In which Nessa does Her thing

"Ooh, that looks interesting." Nessa put Melkor down on a convenient tuffet of grass (He sat down and began to wash) and eyed the boiling darkness at Hyarmentir's foot with a certain predatory thoughtfulness.

"Based on the memories of His Majesty and his family and colleagues, and also what Lady Vaire has observed in the Loom," Eonwe said grimly, "This is a recent development and a direct result of their deaths. The Darkness began active movement approximately two days after they died, and has grown to fill the shadowed region that You see. So far, the light of the Trees, though weaker at this distance, seems to have been strong enough to prevent it from expanding further.”

The Herald of the Valar and a handful of his colleagues were established in a loose cordon around the opening of the cleft, Their light far outshining the distant light of the Trees. In one hand He held a large black box by a carrying strap. The other rested on the hilt of His sword (or rather the weapon that in its inactive state resembled a sword; it was a sword to the same extent that Nahar was a horse).

Melkor looked up. "There's direction there. A conscious entropic function. It's trying to eat the world, bit by bit." He got up, stretched luxuriously and trotted forward. "Let's squash it."

“Yes, yes, in a moment,” Nessa said. “Just let Me do a roll-call and get dressed.”

She looked up at the pale golden sky.

_Orome?_

The Hunter answered from where He and Nahar rode the winds along the mountain’s flank. Through Their eyes She could see the entirety of the cleft, a ribbon of darkness interrupted in two places where it delved beneath the rock.

_On your mark, Sister._

_Ilmare?_

Varda’s Handmaiden answered from where She guarded the Avathar mouth of the passage,

_In position, my Lady. I’ll start moving in as soon as You do._

_Nura?_

Aule’s assistant, coiled like lava through the interstices of the stone, responded from His post at the mountain’s root.

_Here, my Lady. We’ll try not to bring the whole mountain down_

_You’d better not! Aule would be **so** upset._

She nodded to Eonwe. “All right, We’re going in. Hold off until I say.”

He bowed. “As You command, Mistress of Battles.”

Nessa giggled. “Oh this isn’t a battle! Just a bit of tidying-up.”

She flung Her arms out in a great sweeping movement, and stepped forward in Her other form, terrible in Her glory. Barefoot, in the delicate gauzes of a dancer; bells rang with every step at Her ankles and on each wrist. In one hand She brandished a sistrum; two others held a drum, and two more a trident and a fiery net; two more were empty, already shaping the gestures of the dance; and the last held one of Yavanna’s gifts, a long stalk bearing what looked like the bud of a flower, that shone with its own light, even in the blaze of Hers.

Her four heads spoke in unison, voices ringing like storm winds:

“All ready, Melkor? In We go, everyone!”

The shining bud in Her hand opened into a great, many-petalled flower. She raised it and shook the stem, and the petals flew blazing away into the Darkness, each petal a dagger of light, a note of the Song; but the flower was not dimmed, for a new bud formed from the stem and opened, and again the petals shone, and flew, and the Darkness was driven back.

The sistrum pealed, and its sweet, clear, inexorable music cut through the Darkness like lightning. Nessa leapt into the lightless mirk, and the thunder of Her drum and the earth-shaking rhythm of Her dancing feet and the fourfold Song of Her voices shaped a music more complex than any Child could comprehend, more powerful than flesh could endure. Melkor screamed defiance beside Her, and His power blazed about Him in incandescent fury, until it was as if a great Cat of living light frolicked and leapt about Nessa’s flashing feet in intricate counterpart to Her mighty dance. 

Webs of Darkness twined around Her; the flower-fire slashed them and Her shining hands unravelled them, never losing the beat of the drum, the chime of the sistrum. Little wisps of Darkness tried to flee, to slip away past Her, and Melkor pounced on each, crushing them with His burning golden paws. Light and Song, dancing Goddess and dancing God-Cat, fell upon the Darkness and quelled it, re-imposing the order of the Song on formless, hungry chaos. From the eastern side of the cleft Ilmare’s own Song advanced, star-bright and piercing, in harmony with Nura’s deep underground hum, as the earth rose in obedience and collapsed the tunnels where Darkness might hide.

 _There it goes!_ Ilmare cried. 

Pushed back on both fronts and prevented from escape into the earth, the Darkness spiralled upwards along the shadowed mountainside, a storm of starless night. Nura roared in the rock, the mountainside vibrating with force, holding it back from refuge under stone.

 _“Eonwe, Orome, now!”_ sang Nessa’s four-fold voice.

The Valaroma sounded, as if a hurricane could sing, its music re-asserting the realm of ordered being, re-shaping light and air, denying the Darkness its hold upon reality. The cool, pale sky warmed and brightened, as if the Trees were suddenly closer, and from the West two great spheres of blazing gold and silver came floating upwards and over; Eonwe had opened the box. Yavanna’s other gift, the first Seeds of the Trees, smaller than their parents but shedding the same light. For the first time since Aman had been raised from the sea, there was no shadow upon Hyarmentir.


	10. In which a rather awful discovery is made

Under the pressure of Light and Song, reasserting reality against the will to oblivion, the Darkness wilted back into the depths of the canyon, down to its last refuge, a shelf of rock roughly equidistant between both ends, under which, finally, a material shape could be discerned among the webs of unlight. It was not easy to see on the material plane, even with the perceptions of the Ainur, since no light, visible or otherwise, reflected from it. But there was a sense of giant mandibles, and rather more legs than might have been necessary or indeed physically feasible in a real creature of that size. There had been giant arthropods in the Spring of Arda under the Lamps, when the parameters for carbon-based life had been slightly different, but none were possible now. There were no visible eyes, but clearly the being was aware.

And on the spiritual plane, perfectly clear to the Ainur, it was a small but horrible thing, a force of hunger, hatred, rejection and fear; at once knotted in upon itself to escape the touch of the world, and at the same time eating away at reality to expand the space of nothingness in which it hid. 

_Oh dear,_ Nessa's fourfold voice said. She poked at it cautiously with Her trident; threads of unlight gave way, with what would have been a sizzle had it actually been material. _You're a mess, aren't you?_

Nura hummed like fire in the rock around them. Eonwe had followed Nessa from the west, still carrying the box, and remained on guard a little behind Her. Orome and Nahar circled above, orbited by the shining Seeds. Star-bright Ilmare approached, careful to remain between the shelf of rock and any escape eastward; Her light shone directly into the recess.

_My Lady, there's something else in there!_

Nessa's greater light joined Ilmare's. Far within, tucked among the clawed and excessively jointed legs was a bundle of what looked like rags, invisible until the light reached it. To the horror of the Ainur, as Nessa's power flowed over it, it began to shine, just a little, with its own light.

 _Some **one** else,_ said Nessa grimly with one of Her voices. The other three said at the same time, _That looks like..."_

Melkor yowled, the deep, furious wail of a tomcat defending territory, His Cat-shaped nimbus blazing with pure rage. His tail lashed. His hindquarters wiggled. He screamed with molecule-splitting force and leapt.

The shelf of rock crumbled at once, unable to survive the sudden tornado of contending powers in its vicinity, and a shrieking whirlwind of darkness and actinic fire blossomed in its place.

Nessa slammed Her trident into the earth and the air thickened around the combatants, containing them within a bubble of Her strength. Ilmare darted in beneath and emerged cradling the bundle in Her arms. Skin, not rags.

Eonwe made a shocked sound.

 _Mairon,_ He said. _That's **Mairon**._


	11. In which there is a modicum of violence and its aftermath

"Really," said Orome, "We might as well have brought Tulkas."

He and Nahar had come to ground, and were keeping Nessa company watching Melkor try conclusions with the Abyssal (They were fairly confident that that was what It was). Eonwe had taken Mairon, whatever was left of Him, off to Lorien, for Irmo and Este to retrieve, if possible. Orome was quite hopeful that it would not be; He had never liked Mairon, and Melkor would be better off without an overambitious (and more focused) underling to help Him plot.

Nessa sighed a gusty fourfold sigh, net and trident still at the ready. The Seeds floated above Her, their gold and silver light allowing no shadows in which the Darkness could find respite.

 _We'll be done soon,_ She said with Her fore-most voice. _It really wouldn't be fair to stop Him now; Mairon was His minion, after all._

The walls of Her will were still holding, and within them, Melkor's burning light was swiftly gaining ground on the Abyssals's increasingly feeble attempts to keep Him at bay. Its form was shrinking; from a horse-sized cross between a centipede and a spider it was down to something more the size of a large fox. The noise of the fight had diminished too. Melkor was too busy shredding Its carapace with his fiery claws to bother with battle-cries. 

_Anyway,_ She added, _It's not as if We really need a **body.**_

The creature was on Its back, mandibles torn away, venom evaporated and armoured underparts ripped open; Its few remaining legs waved feebly. It was quite small and visible now. Melkor sprang in for the kill. There was a snap and a loud, final crunch.

_Got you!_

Nessa swung Her bright net upwards, swifter than a lizard's tongue. What rose fleeing from the scattered remnants of chitin and claw would have been invisible and intangible to material eyes. But the net was Nessa's, existing in both the material and the spiritual realms, and it caught the fleeing spirit and held It fast. 

Ilmare came up with the box that had held the Seeds. Nessa dropped the whole net into it and Ilmare latched the lid closed; no power in Arda would open it again, until the Valar willed it. 

"There. All done." Nessa said, reverting to Her mundane form. 

"You do realise," Orome said, "That whatever trauma this being suffered by entering Ea has just been magnified a million-fold?"

"Couldn't be helped," His sister said cheerfully. " _I'm_ not going to get between Melkor and His rightful lunch. We'll just have to let Irmo and Namo sort It out."

She handed the long flower-stalk (the rest of Her gear had vanished, having been mostly non-material to begin with) to Ilmare as well.

"Here You are, get that back to Yavanna, with My thanks, and _that_ to the Mahanaxar. We'll be along soon, with the Seeds."

"Done, my Lady," said Ilmare, and vanished. 

Orome swung into the saddle and whistled; the Seeds floated obediently downwards and attached themselves, glowing gently, to the pommel. They were noticeably dimmer than before, presumably following a similar wax-wane cycle to their parents. Or perhaps simply exhausted. He hoped that they were not permanently injured. Yavanna would not be happy if something happened to Her, well, grandchildren. 

"Nura, can we leave You to tidy up here? Come to the Ring after."

 _Yes, my Lord,_ Aule's assistant hummed from the rock. _My colleagues will stay to keep watch on this passage._

"Good man. See You in the Ring, all." He and Nahar followed Ilmare.

Melkor had finished spitting out bits of chitin, and was sitting on the field of victory, having a much-needed wash. The fires of His spirit had faded, and He was back to being an ordinary, if perfectly-formed marmalade cat. Various sticky and unpleasant liquids had splashed onto His fur, and not all had been burned off in the heat of His fury.

"Can I help?" Nessa asked, coming over. 

"Yes, please," He said. "This tasted much better when it was hot."

She hummed gently, and all His fur stood up suddenly in a cloud of soft radiance. When it came down again it was clean, albeit still somewhat fluffy.

He sneezed, then stretched at full extension, backwards and forwards. "Thank you," He said, and yawned widely. "I need a nap." 

"Somewhere nicer," Nessa said firmly. She picked Him up (He purred) and They were gone.


	12. In which suspicions are confirmed

Since Vana had done the decorating, and in response to the dire and terrible discoveries below Hyarmentir, the Mahanaxar looked like a clover lawn surrounded by white birches that cast a delicate, dappled shade. A little rill ran across it, for Ulmo, lined with reeds and flowering irises in all shades of blue, yellow and white. 

The Valar were gathered, except for Irmo, Este, Nienna and Namo. While everyone waited, Nessa, Orome, Eonwe, Ilmare and Nura reported on Their mission, and Aule handed out jam tarts and cups of tea from the picnic-basket that He had brought.

"Hmph," Tulkas said around a mouthful of apricot jam tart. "After all that fuss about not disintegrating anyone...I don't think letting It be _eaten_ is any better!"

"That's lovely, thank you, Aule."

Nessa accepted a lemon curd tart and a cup and stretched out on the lawn beside Her husband in a puff of clover-scented air. 

"I couldn't do anything else, darling," She said. "After We found Mairon there...well naturally Melkor was cross."

The stream rippled musically.

 _Cat does as Cat is,_ said Ulmo, and showed a picture of the various creatures that Melkor had considered prey in His new existence. Apart from the expected birds and small mammals, it included lizards, bats, grasshoppers, spiders, scorpions, centipedes, toads and several ornamental carp that He had managed to hook out from King Ingwe's garden ponds.

" _And_ He was rather hungry," Nessa said. "We had been exerting Ourselves a bit. So it was all very unfortunate, but at least We retrieved this being, whoever It is, and now Namo and Irmo can tell Us what We should do with It."

Melkor was absent, with a stomach-ache. Nessa had left Him in Valmar in the care of Vana's people, morosely chewing grass and vomiting up undigested bits of personified entropic intention.

"What I want to know," Orome said, "Is what that little twerp was doing there in the first place."

Everyone looked over at Vaire, Who was sipping Her tea with genteel pleasure.

"I take it that You mean Mairon," the Doom-goddess said. "The Loom showed Him crossing the Sea, about an Age ago, and wandering around along the coast outside the Pelori for some time in what I can only describe as a furtive manner. Then He found the mouth of that ravine, and went in, and from then the Loom shows only darkness. By the way, I do think that We need to do something about the ultra-montane regions of this continent. Obviously they are a weakness in Our defences. I have already adjusted the Loom's settings to allow for more attention to border surveillance."

 _Working on it_ , Yavanna's leaves whispered from among the birches. 

"In any case," Vaire continued, "What exactly He was doing or rather, intending to do, will be for Our colleagues to tell Us."

On cue the Feanturi, Este and Nienna appeared, and disposed themselves comfortably on the lawn among Their fellows. More tea and tarts were distributed. After a decent interval for refreshment, a light breeze called the meeting to order.

 _What have You found?_ asked the Elder King. _Fanar_ were particularly difficult for Him and for Varda; being far and away the mightiest of the Valar, squeezing Themselves down into a material structure was always a challenge. Today He was wearing His preferred form of a gentle wind, while the Queen of the Stars was manifested as light dancing on Ulmo's waters.

"We have two issues," Namo said. "The entity, and Mairon. I will address them in order. The entity is indeed, as Our brother speculated, an Abyssal, or was. None of Us had previously encountered It, but It's self-identification may be translated into speech as I-Dissipate-Existence-Into-Peace, or I-Weave-Light-Into Darkness, depending on how poetic You wish to be." His absence of expression, though normal, somehow managed to convey a vast lack of interest in the very concept of poetry.

Tulkas sat up. "That's an active-voice identification! Contrary to everything the Abyssals are about!"

"Just so," Irmo said. "You've all seen Nessa and Orome's memory of this entity's, I'll call it Gloomweaver for short, spiritual nature. That is most definitely not a normal Abyssal aspect. We were not able to reach any knowledge of Its history, but somehow it passed into an aberrant state, and began to manifest active hostility to the Song, rather than mere passive endurance, like the rest of Its cohort."

"And then It sneaked into Ea to try to destroy the world!" Tulkas was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Nessa moved His teacup out of harm's way.

The Feanturi looked at each other. "Something like that," said Irmo. "In short."

"It was overambitious," said Namo, "Or perhaps It simply did not truly understand the scale and intensity of Ea. It was able to survive in the shadows of Avathar, but the Light of the Trees, even at a distance, was too much for It to swallow. Until It got hold of Mairon."


	13. Meanwhile, back in Valmar....

Melkor stretched out in the flowery mead that formed part of Vana's garden in Valmar, basking in cool air, Laurelin's warmth, and the delightfully flattering way that Her light shone on His fur. As a bonus, the light, clear colours of sub-alpine flora complemented His colouring perfectly. Vana had excellent taste. 

A little spring made delicate music trickling from beneath a handsome cluster of boulders. He had tried the water and it was delicious, cold and sweet.

One of Vana's Elvish followers was in attendance upon Him, gently brushing Him to glossy, golden perfection after that unfortunate and undignified episode with the wretched Abyssal. 

He was receiving regular progress reports from Irmo on His colleagues' investigation into the whole tedious business. He did not need to actually be there. 

At some point, when He felt like it, there would be lunch. The Valmar branch of the School of Applied and Theoretical Gastronomy had an entire working-group dedicated to devising new and interesting meals for Him (He particularly favoured the possum with squash-flowers, the venison and chestnuts, and the rabbit with mushrooms and asparagus). Today He had been promised wild boar sausage with apples.

Life was good. Melkor slept, purring.


	14. In which discussion continues and memories are revisited

"There were no bones," Nessa was saying, "And I think all the equipment got eaten as well, because there wasn't anything lying around at all."

“Oh dear,” Aule said. “I suppose it’s for the best about the bones, but the Eldar will be upset about the loss of the data.”

Yavanna said, _We will tell them what We found._

"My chaps analysed Melkor’s leftovers, what there was of them. It wasn’t trying for biological plausibility at all, or maybe It just didn’t have a grip on the concept of physical constraints, “Orome said, with some disapproval. 

“Reconstructing from the remains, and what the team saw, It looked to Yavanna and Me as if the initial style was basically eurypterid, with modifications for terrestrial existence; and then there were some odd things that it probably added later, like the acid glands and the infra-red vision and the extra tongues. Altogether a mish-mash.” 

Vana said nostalgically, “Eurypterids were so sweet, with all the legs.”

Vaire said, "Having even a provisional identification made it much easier to narrow the temporal parameters for the search. Even so, the syntactical problems were considerable. The Loom was set up to record the Song, not not-Song. Or rather, trying-to-be-not-Song.” 

She manipulated the threads strung among Her fingers, and the memory of the almost unthinkably distant past rose before the Valar. Wide, golden seas surrounding the super-continent of Almaren, ramparted with bright coral, teeming with armoured fish, and great iridescent shells, and giant sea-scorpions , predatory nautiloids and sleek sharks, flashing like fire through the glittering waters. Rich, warm swamps filled with lycopods, giant horsetails, tree ferns. Giant dragonflies cutting through the heavy airs, arachnids and myriapods dancing among the leaves. Saurians of all sizes stalked and ran and scuttled in the inland plains and forests, scales and feathers sleek and shining. Stem-birds flocked and fed and squabbled along the shore, leathery wings as colourful as flowers. All the lovely beings that were no more, Yavanna’s first creation, lost except to memory.

The stream burbled gently.

 _She wasn’t hiding in the seas,_ Ulmo said. _They weren’t dark, then._

_No_ said the glittering light on His waters. _I remember. They were warm and shallow and bright, full of light and life and death. So beautiful, Yavanna. I remember. We did good work there._

The birch leaves sighed. 

_We all did. The Lamps were so fine…_

In Vaire’s image, They were falling, taller than mountains, the mightiest act of destruction that Arda would ever know, and Melkor was laughing.

“There,” said Irmo quietly. “Do You see? It came in then, when the way opened to Outside, when the lands burned again and Darkness returned…”

Aule did not weep, seeing again the wreck of His greatest work; but His sorrow encompassed Them all.


	15. In which the discussion continues to be rather depressing

Este said soberly, "The Eldar died very quickly. Real material substance is, was, totally defenceless against the Gloomweaver's, um, entropic emanation, what they perceived as Darkness. _Fanar_ , on the other hand..."

The Valar considered the information that She spread before Their perception. It described Mairon's condition upon His rescue in grisly detail, and then, even worse, the terrible, Age-long process by which He had probably reached that state.

There was an appalled silence, and a general offering of sympathy to Aule, to whom Mairon had once been a close and trusted colleague.

The Hunter asked dispassionately, "Was trying to hold on to His _fana_ the right thing for Him to do? Could He have got away if He had simply abandoned it and fled?"

Irmo and Este exchanged a glance. Irmo’s grey robe was dull with His sorrow. Este’s _fana_ , always delicate, was now tenuous as mist in sympathy with Her husband, though She was otherwise not much moved. She knew bodies and what could happen to bodies. She had been first in the liberation of Melkor's production laboratories at the taking of Utumno.

She said, "I suspect that when He was first...attacked, for want of a better word, He might equally just have come too close to the Darkness and been caught by accident..."

 _Fly in the web_ , whispered Yavanna.

"Yes," Este said. "When He was first caught He was corporeal and I suspect that His first instinct was to protect His form. That might have directed Gloomweaver's attention in that direction. Distracted It with flesh, if You will.“

There was a general shudder. 

The Healer continued, “If He had been unclothed, He might not have lasted as long as He did. None of Us has ever faced such... 'will to Non-being' is the best way that I have to describe Its ideation, manifested materially as Darkness. I suspect that His _fana_ actually protected His spirit from simply being…absorbed completely. Instead of mostly."

“So It was eating Him,” Orome said, intent, “but because it was focusing on His _fana_ , not on Him directly, it took longer, and there was enough of Him for Nessa to rescue.”

Irmo said carefully, “We can’t reconstruct His decision process. He might have escaped if He had dropped the body at once. But for whatever reason, that didn’t happen. And … after a while He would have been too weak to flee. Perhaps even too weak to remember that flight was possible.” 

There’s very little left of Him, which is a mercy, really, for Him. We separated Him from the…physical remnant, and now that all His strength is no longer being continuously sucked away, He can begin the process of re-growing His self. But it will be a very long time before He is capable of even basic cognition. And what He will grow into eventually…may or may not be Mairon again.”

 _Poor Mairon_ , rustled the birch leaves, not very convincingly, but making the effort for Her spouse’s sake. Aule smiled at Her, and fiddled unhappily with His tablets.

“That could be a good thing, really,” Vana said in an encouraging tone, leaning over to give Her brother-in-marriage a consolatory pat on the shoulder. “He was heading in quite the wrong direction anyway, wasn’t He? Now He has the chance to try again, and hopefully be someone nicer.” 

"So how did the Eldar get away, then?" asked Tulkas. "Why didn’t it start eating them too? They're so much weaker."

"Precisely because of that," Irmo said. "Their bodies were...absorbed immediately in the same way that all other life in Its vicinity was absorbed, but in comparison to one of Us their spirits were too unfamiliar and too small for It to get Its tongues around, so to speak."

Yavanna said, _Midges, slipping between the strands of the web._

“Yes,” Irmo said. “At least that one thing didn’t go too catastrophically wrong.”


	16. In which we move from victim to perpetrator

Several cycles of gold and silver had passed. The breeze strengthened, though neither Ulmo’s waters nor Yavanna’s leaves so much as shivered. The intertwined discussion of the Valar fell abruptly silent.

 _Call It here,_ said the Elder King.

Namo nodded and stood up, brushing crumbs from His plain, dark blue robe. In His usual garb as a rather tall Elf of bland expression and indeterminate origin, He was non-descript to the point of unnoticeability. But arisen in power, no sentient being in His presence would have mistaken Him for other than that He was.

Into the utter stillness of the Powers’ conjoined attention, He said, with absolute and final authority, 

_Self-called, I-Dissipate-Existence-Into-Peace, You are summoned to the judgment of the Guardians of the World._

And under His will, from the Halls of the Dead, the Gloomweaver came to the Ring of Doom.

Shorn of its mediating carapace of flesh, Its spirit was terrible to behold. A knotted, viciously self-contradicting tangle of hunger and fear, greed and repulsion, at once heaving against Namo’s constraining will and grappling (in vain) to get purchase and feed. And at Its heart, naked to the sight of the Valar, Its true and ultimate desire: mad Nothing, the true extinction, rejection of existence, rejection even of the peace of the Abyss. 

The breeze was cold and clean, shielding the Valar from the horror before Them.

Manwe said, _Irmo, Este, Nienna, Your assessments._

Irmo said, “As You can see, It is entirely open to Our sight, not trying to shield Itself at all. We are not sure that We can even say that It is currently sentient, beyond the continuous assertion of Its identity.”

“Which is based on rejection of all existence, including Its own,” said Este, “A blatant disunity of definition that I would have thought it impossible for a member of Our order to sustain without rapid disintegration of self. And indeed, what You perceive now is already much less internally coherent than when Nessa brought It to Us.” 

“So It’s quite mad, then,” Orome said, regarding the (metaphorically) writhing nightmare with a critical gaze. He had got over the initial shock fastest, being accustomed to monsters. “And going madder as We speak. I told You letting It be eaten wouldn’t help.”

“Oy!” said His sister indignantly, sitting up. 

Este said in haste, “This is actually a fascinating case. Based on Its rapid deterioration upon being disembodied,” a wave of her pale hand showed the Valar the steady disintegration of the Gloomweaver’s spiritual intelligibility since Its terminal encounter with Melkor, “We suspect that Its _fana_ might actually have been protecting It from Its own internal contradictions. The material form channelled Its nihilistic intention into relatively straightforward physical hunger and destruction, allowing it to act in the world without being immediately destroyed by its own inconsistency of intent.”

The Valar examined the unravelling spiritual cancer before Them and considered this.

“Six of one and half a dozen of the other!” Tulkas declared suddenly. He looked around at His startled peers. “What? It’s something I heard the Eldar say. Now it makes sense. It and what It did to Mairon, they’re the same thing really, right?”

“Something like,” Irmo said. “It is eating Itself, now, essentially. I must say that We have been discovering much that We had never thought of before in respect of the relationship between self and _fana_.

Yavanna said, _It killed, it devoured. It bound Itself to flesh, and to Ea. Melkor did Us a favour._

“Um...” said Irmo. “Well…”

Nienna, taking pity on Her brother, intervened for the first time.

“Certainly the absence of a body has simplified the problem before us, if only by making it clear that Gloomweaver is almost certainly completely insane. If It was not so when It entered Arda, It is so now. From our investigation of Mairon’s condition and the continued deterioration of Its own, My view is that It is no longer aware of anything outside Itself except as a disturbance to be silenced. Mairon was merely…noisier and therefore the more to be attended to.”

“An unusually knotty bit of reality, that had to be planed away…” said Aule softly.

“Yes.” Her voice was very gentle. “It will be no consolation, but I think that what He suffered was not done out of especial malice. Or at any rate, not more malice than It bore towards all of existence.”

The air rippled, and a large, orange cat stepped onto the grass. 

“Oh, hello, Melkor,” Vana said cheerfully. “Feeling better?”

Melkor yawned. “Much, thank You. Is that the thingy? It's looking a bit ratty, isn't It?" 

There was a mutter of "After You got Your teeth into it, what did You expect?" from Orome, which He ignored. He sat down next to Vana, wrapped His tail around His feet and regarded It with bright-eyed interest.

“So, what are We going to do with It?”


	17. Meanwhile, in Tirion...

Telperion was waning and the Mingling of the Lights was beginning. Queen Indis was up already, and having her daily stroll and audience in the King's garden. The messenger trotted up to the Queen, deftly matching her pace (a strolling pace for Indis was the equivalent of a very brisk walk for any normal Elf) as secretaries danced out of her way. The Queen slowed her stride politely, but did not stop. She thought better while walking, so after unexpectedly becoming pro tem sole ruler of the Noldor, she had moved Finwe’s part of the administration outside (where hers normally was anyway). 

“Your Majesty, the Deputy Director of the House of Knowledge would like to see you. He says that it is an urgent and confidential matter.”

“Hmm!” said the Queen. “Well, it’s always nice to see Talagando. Please invite him to join me for breakfast, and ask Lady Findis to be there as well.” The messenger nodded briskly in lieu of a bow and departed at speed, her pony-tail swinging behind her. The secretaries closed in again and the Queen resumed her normal pace.

“Now then, Mistress Haldwe, I’d like to have the possible locations for the funiculars in hand to discuss with the King when he returns …” 

The hill of Tuna was ringed with public gardens, each occupying the top of the mighty retaining walls that supported its terraced slopes. The Treeward segment of the highest ring backed onto the King’s House and formed its private garden (it was generally agreed that the King and Queen needed somewhere quiet to be alone from time to time). After Indis’ arrival, the paths among the bamboo clumps, fruit trees and lotus ponds had been raised slightly and re-laid with hardwood (tougher than grass, still pleasant for bare feet, and a useful test for the latest in preservatives and waterproofing from the Aulendili). It was not the same as climbing the alpine slopes above Valmar, but Indis was a cheerful soul and perfectly capable of appreciating the beauties of Tirion and its countryside without repining. 

Breakfast waited at the far end of the garden, in a grassy court with a pool of blue water-lilies; pergolas surrounded the court, hung with riotously brilliant orchids, and brightly-flowered climbers, all glowing like jewels in the waxing gold of Laurelin’s light. A simple meal of rice, fish and fruit was laid out every day for when the Queen should finish both her walk and her business. 

When the Queen arrived, a jug of sweetened lime juice and three lacquered boxes of food had been laid out on the thick rush mats, a large teapot was keeping warm on its stand and Master Talagando was already there with the Lady Findis, the dark head and the golden bent together inspecting a water-lily that had mysteriously bloomed white instead of blue. A magpie-robin whistled sweetly, somewhere in the leaves above, and sunbirds hopped and called among the scarlet flowers of the red jade vine.

“We’re not sure what happened,” the Queen’s eldest daughter was saying. “It was blue the last time that it flowered. But we might just leave it, it’s a nice contrast, and pretty in itself.”

“Mmm,” said Master Talagando, his voice, as always, carefully tuned to not affect anything in earshot (his strength of voice was considerable, which resulted in him very rarely saying anything at all, except around other powerful people, in case he interfered with anyone’s perceptions too much). “Perhaps.” 

Findis smiled, unoffended. Master Talagando was well liked, and among those who saw beyond the tongue-tied diffidence, respected.

Greetings were exchanged and recourse was had to the mats. The Queen plopped herself down cross-legged with the same vigour with which she approached all activities. It was a source of constant amusement to her that while the Noldor only wore Vanyarin-style wrapped cotton trousers and jackets for strenuous outdoor activity, Vanyar only wore Noldorin vests and long wrapped kilts for important ceremonial events. Making sure that she spent most of her waking hours outdoors and moving briskly meant that she could wear her own clothes, as she thought of them, in an unexceptionable way. It also kept her apprised of the mood of the city, and well-acquainted with all its crannies and cross-ways. The Noldor could not say that their Vanyar Queen did not trouble to get out and about among her adopted people.

Findis, who like Master Talagando was wearing the normal buttoned vest and ankle-long wrapped kilt (simple cotton with minimal decoration, suitable for time and occasion) knelt and served everyone tea and lime juice, then sat with her legs folded sideways in approved style. Master Talagando passed around the breakfast boxes and eating-sticks, and settled himself as tidily as a cat. Everyone tucked in. 

“So,” said the Queen, after a while, having polished off her rice, pickled radish and smoked fish, but before starting on her fruit, “It’s lovely to see you again, Master Talagando, but what’s ado? The Powers continue to not tell me for certain when the King will come home, so I assume it’s not that.” 

Master Talagando swallowed some rice and said, ”Not quite, Your Majesty. You’ve been getting the daily briefings, yes, about the Powers’ investigation into the, um, creature?"

“Of course,” the Queen said. “Many more than I need, frankly. So long as it’s not out there eating my husband and our people, I really couldn’t care less what the Powers choose to do with it.”

Master Talagando nodded seriously, but said, “The House of Knowledge, however, particularly it’s, um, recently deceased members, are extremely interested, Your Majesty. So much so that they have all chosen to, er, remain deceased, until the Powers have finished Their investigation and, ah, released Their full findings. The, er, creature Itself, being Itself, um, discorporate, you know, they, er, feel that it would be much easier for them to interpret the findings in their, ah, present condition.”

The stress of so much speech overcame him and he stopped for a deep swig of lime juice. 

The Queen swallowed a mouthful of mango and said, “So the King isn’t coming back for a while? I can see why he would want to keep an eye on things…”

Elves do not of course have truly involuntary expressions, such as a blush, their _hroar_ being under their own control. Master Talagando expressed embarrassment by fiddling with his eating-sticks, avoiding the Queen’s bright and piercing gaze and not saying anything, very loudly.

Indis waited, patient as one of her own ornamental rocks. 

Master Talagando gave in. “It’s not just the House, Your Majesty. Director Calondis is there, and, um, she could manage everyone perfectly well by herself. But they've told me, that is, Lord Namo's and Lord Aule's people have told me, he _is_ a member of the House in good standing after all, that's why, and they thought that I could tell you…” 

Findis offered him an encouraging smile and re-filled his glass of lime juice. 

He took a desperate gulp and said “Lord Feanor, Your Majesty. He’s met her late Majesty Queen Miriel in the Halls, and, well, he’s planning to stay. The King too."

He added hurriedly, in response to the suddenly thunderous mental atmosphere, "At least for a while.”


	18. In which a judgement is delivered

The light on Ulmo’s waters no longer danced. Its stillness was fearsome, the moment between the lightning and the strike.

 _Can It be healed?_ asked the Queen of Stars.

Este, Irmo and Nienna exchanged unhappy glances. Over the last several weeks of debate, the Mahanaxar had changed as it always did, responding to the mood of the Powers. The grass and the leaves still glowed defiantly green, the irises still shone blue, yellow, violet and apricot, but the illusory Treelight had acquired a chill, greyish tinge of sorrow and worry.

“We know what a healthy Abyssal looks like,” Este said at last. “Some of My own relatives are Abyssals. In theory It’s psyche could be…re-composed to match those specifications.”

“The problem,” Irmo said, “Is that by definition it is not possible to be a healthy Abyssal within Ea. They are logically incompatible states.”

Melkor yawned and settled down on the grass, tucking His paws against His chest.

“It’s disintegrating already,” He said. “We could just leave It to finish.”

“And then what?” Irmo said. “It won’t just …disappear. It’s an Ainu, too.”

Tulkas said in a small voice, “Couldn’t We just…send It back? Out of Ea, back into the Abyss? Might it recover there?”

 _No longer possible._ the birch forest said. _I told you. It has killed, It has eaten. These are deeds of Ea, and bind It to Ea, with or without a body._

“How about just out of Arda, then?” Orome said, with a bluff impatience that fooled no-one. Vana moved closer to Him, and put Her arm around His shoulders. “Put it in a containment, and leave it somewhere dark and quiet until the end of the Song.”

Irmo and Este said in unison, “I really don’t think We should…”

 _NO_ said Varda, and for an instance the light was blinding. After a moment She continued, in a more moderate aspect, _I will not risk the stars._

The silence this time was of shock.

“Is that really possible?” Orome asked eventually, His tone not quite as skeptical as usual. “It’s not _that_ big.”

Aule looked up from His unhappy contemplation of His hands. “It was limited by the physical constraints of Arda,” He said. “Outside, in the darkness between the stars…It could make Itself a new _fana_. And grow.”

Nessa jumped to Her feet. “We have to do _something_ with It,” She said. “We can’t just let unconstrained entropy get into the Song and then let It loose to wander about silencing everything in earshot! It needs to be contained in spirit, and kept from resuming a form in the realm of matter.”

There was a general shift of attention towards the Lord and Lady of the Halls of Waiting. Namo was expressionless and Vaire saturnine as ever, but They were sitting side by side, very close and very still. Nienna stood behind Them, wrapped in shadow, Her face impassive. 

The breeze was distinctly colder now.

_Namo, Vaire, can You contain this being?_

Vaire said, “Your Majesty. Yes. I can bind It. Namo can hold It within the Halls. But It will still be mad and lost, devouring Itself without surcease or healing or awareness of anything but hunger and fear. Torture until the end of the world. I do not wish to do this.” Namo took Her hand in His. She squeezed it and nodded slightly, not looking at Him. Her long black hair twined about Her in serpentine strands, moving with Her distress, not with the wind.

Irmo said at last, “We might be able to help. It’s barely conscious of itself now. We can’t stop what It’s doing to Itself, but We can ...slow the process down. “ 

“Put It to sleep, You mean?” Tulkas regained some of His normal cheer. “That would work! “ He considered. “Could it work?”

The Elder King said, _Namo, what is Your judgement?_

The Doomsman said calmly, still hand in hand with His spouse, “Punishment is not a suitable response to this being’s deeds, for It lacks the capacity to understand the wrong of those deeds. It could not understand punishment or be helped by it, and therefore punishment would serve no purpose save to add to Its torment. Yet It cannot be released, for It is too dangerous to the substance of the Song, and in Its current condition It is not capable of amending Its annihilative intention. Therefore It must be contained, and if possible without adding to Its present suffering. Vaire and I can contain It for as long as necessary. Irmo and Este may attempt to quiet Its spirit. It may be that within the Halls, It may find sufficient peace to mend Itself, even in Time and the clamour of Ea.”

Lightning flashed over the waters, consenting. Manwe Sulimo said, _Let It then be so. I commit the Gloomweaver to Your care, Irmo and Este, Namo and Vaire._

Melkor’s eyes were closed. He breathed peacefully, making little whiffling sounds through His whiskers.


	19. In which Yavanna oversees some new security arrangements

The Seeds were much bigger than they had been during the action at Hyarmentir. From the size of a large orange they had grown to huge floating spheres that four elves together could not have circled with their arms. Their movement in the air was smooth and stately now, instead of swift and darting, and their light was too bright for the Eldar to look at directly. 

“They’re almost ripe,” Yavanna said fondly, as they sailed shining above Her head. She stretched out Her hand, and both Seeds floated to Her and to Vana, to be stroked and petted like friendly hounds, their singing a quiet, harmonising sequence of rising and falling chords.

Vana said, “Just as well, the site will be finished soon. It’s going to be so pretty.” From Their vantage point, lounging comfortably on the lower slope of the mountain, the Goddesses looked seawards with shared satisfaction.

Yavanna had chosen the place Herself, a cold, rain-washed plain at the tip of the long strand of Avathar, where the Pelori curved westwards again to guard Aman’s southern flank. The sea rumbled on the dark horizon east and south, and many small streams rushed down the mountain slopes to cross the stony flat towards it. 

What had been a mostly barren waste was now a building-site as busy as a seabird rookery in breeding season. A harbour was taking shape on the distant shingle, supervised by Lady Calapesse, eldest child of Olwe and Falmariel of the Teleri. Swan ships were moored off-shore, part of the regular supply run down from Alqualonde and the small port of Falastirion just east of the Calacirya. Noldorin engineers under the command of Lord Nolofinwe were putting the finishing touches to a complex system of trenches and basins on different levels, all surrounding a huge, shallow-sloped mound of earth and stone . A lake had been dug on higher ground in the shadow of the mountains, filled by several waterfalls channeled from the upper slopes. Yavannildi of all tribes were fanned out among the earthworks, sowing seeds and planting bulbs, led by the Dean herself, Lady Fionwe of the Vanyar, second daughter of the High King and Queen.

This far from Valinor, the light of the Trees was only a greater or lesser dimness in the north-western sky. The work went on by starlight, the somewhat random light of the Seeds, as they drifted gently above, and the cold, blue-white glare of the Noldorin lamps, strung from poles across the site.

Vana stretched her legs out and wiggled Her toes, luxuriating in the warmth of Laurelin’s Seed. “So,” She said, “Have We decided who will be looking after things here?”

Yavanna shrugged. “My people will be doing most of the high-energy-level care, but the Eldar have to sort out their day-to-day arrangements among themselves. They’re the ones who will be living here, after all. I expect young Nolofinwe will end up managing things, he’s turning out quite good at administration when he’s not being distracted by sibling rivalry. Calapesse will take care of the port and shipping for now, but Ulmo says He has other things for her to do, so her parents will probably send someone along to replace her. And the Yavannildi will look after the gardens, of course.”

“Hmm. Do You think they can all work together?”

Yavanna sniffed. “They had better.” She gave Telperion’s Seed a little push. “Off you go. Look for Melkor, I don’t know where He’s wandered off to.” It hummed happily and sailed off over the site, to be greeted by cheerful whistles and calls from the workers.

“I see Him,” Vana said, sitting up. “He’s on the Mound. What is He…?”

Far off, at the top of the great artificial hill, a small orange shape could be seen by the two giant beds of earth and finest compost that had been prepared. It appeared to be lifting one of Its hind legs, in a quite unmistakeable gesture. Vana giggled.

Yavanna shrugged again. “Oh well,” She said. “A bit of extra nitrogen won’t hurt.”


	20. In which an invalid receives a visitor

“So,” Nessa said, “How is He doing?” 

She and Este were having tea and light refreshments in a small pavilion on the shores of Lake Lorellin, across the water from Este’s island. It was, as usual in the Gardens of Lorien, a peaceful Hour. Telperion shone alone, waxing. Around the pavilion, camellia bushes bloomed red, white and pink, and peach trees rustled gently in the cool breeze, flowers and heavy, scented fruit mingled on their boughs. The walls of the great caldera that cradled Lorellin rose mistily in the distance against the softly glowing silver sky. Away in the bamboo forest surrounding the lake a giant panda bleated, signalling to potential mates.

“Not too badly, given the circumstances,” Este said. She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Mairon was never a friend of Yours in the old days.” There was the faintest hint of a query in Her calm, healer’s voice.

Nessa grinned. “Not then and not now. It’s very nasty, what happened to Him, of course, but Melkor was a terrible influence on Him and the other way about too. Orome and I wanted to make sure that They couldn’t just take up with each other again and undo everything that We have been trying to accomplish. Mairon was always the sneaky type.”

“Ah.” The Healer sat back on Her cushion and took a sip of tea. “I don’t think that that will be an issue.”

Nessa considered this around several mouthfuls of white peach jelly. “So, by “not too badly”, You mean…”

“Mairon will not be in a condition to influence Melkor, or be influenced by Him for a very long time. We brought Him here from the Halls because Namo thought that He would do better with a _fana_ , and I think that He has, but sneaking is certainly beyond Him.”

Nessa finished Her jelly and started on the candied chestnut cakes. Este smiled faintly and poured more tea. 

“Thank You. This is lovely tea. Do Your people grow it here?”

“Some of the Avari Returned wanted some, and we’ve kept up the plantation for their successors. Tending the plants is very steadying for them while they settle in and reconcile themselves to being here.”

Nessa nodded sympathetically. “Poor things. It must be difficult for them. Surely at some point We could send them back, they never wanted to be here anyway.”

“It would be better if We could,” Este agreed. “Perhaps when Yavanna and Varda have solved the light problem.”

“Yes, I thought that the Seeds were a good start, but apparently not. They want to be Trees, so She can’t just keep them flying about forever.”

She set down Her cup and rose to Her feet with a dancer’s muscular grace, Her bangles jingling (a harmless, gentle music, this time). “Well, thank You for Your hospitality, it’s always lovely to be here. Would it possible for Me to bring Melkor to see Him then, if it will be harmless? He’s asked.”

Este’s smiled broadened a little. “Certainly. But You should come and see Him for Yourself, first.”

 

It took quite a long time to get Melkor to Lorellin. The sprawling equatorial massif that was the Gardens (foothills, plateaux, lakes and several extinct volcanic peaks, including the one that held Lorellin) was apparently irresistible to feline senses, and He insisted on physically visiting the full range of habitats from jungle to temperate woodland that the varying altitude made possible. Since He was accompanied by a full entourage of attendant elves (biologists and veterinary healers, mostly, with regular changes of shift and all with companion cats themselves – Yavanna was taking no chances that He would be able to subvert any of them) and insisted on going hunting during all His waking hours, it became a major expedition. It was many days before the last elephant in the caravan swung through the great gate into the caldera and along the forest paths to Lorellin. 

At the lake-side visitors’ hall (on the opposite side of the lake to Este’s little pavilion), the entire train of beasts were received by efficient swarms of elves and Maiar, who relieved the elephants of passengers and baggage and led them off to pachydermously-suitable accommodation (specially built, equipped and stocked for the visit – there had been plenty of time). 

“Hello, Melkor, welcome!” Irmo received the cushion upon which His former colleague was reposing from the attendant of the Hour, who was smoothly deposited before Him by the elephant’s trunk, cushion, divine feline and all. He nodded thanks to the elephant, who flapped her ears in acknowledgement, before being gently guided after her fellows.

Melkor yawned, stretched all four legs at once and rolled over onto His front. “Oh good, we’re here. Where’s dinner? I’m starving.”

Pleasant smells were indeed issuing from the hall, a double-storied, elegantly plain building with a swooping roofline and long verandahs stretching to either side, into which Melkor’s escort was presently being ushered. Irmo, who had His instructions from His spouse, beamed down at His guest.

“It’s cooking now, everyone still has time for a quick wash and brush up to be fresh for dinner. In the meantime, would you like to come and visit Mairon first? Este isn’t allowing anyone to spend too much time with Him, He’s still in rather rocky shape, poor chap.”

Melkor’s whiskers rippled as He sniffed at the delectable scents wafting from inside(some sort of lake fish, He thought, being grilled with assorted aromatics, and that was a whiff of fowl, being fried in shrimp paste…) but in the face of Irmo’s brightly impervious smile, He said reluctantly, “Oh well, I suppose that would be best.”

“Lovely! We’ll just step over, the boat would take a bit long…”

 

On Her island, silver birches sheltered Este’s white-walled house, all gleaming gently in the light of the Mingling. She came out onto the front verandah as Her spouse materialised on the path, still carrying Their guest. 

“Hello, Melkor, it’s nice of You to come and visit. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask You to be very quiet, He doesn’t respond well to sudden noises.”

Melkor jumped down from the cushion, stretched, and twined Himself absently around a verandah post.

“Yes, yes, Nessa told Me that He’s gone back to having a _fana_ now.”

“He has,” Este said, leading the way into the house. A long corridor lined with sliding screens led them to a small, quiet room overlooking a little moss garden. It was bare except for an alcove with shelves, a low square table of polished, dark wood, with green seat-cushions around it, and a stone hearth set into the floor of smooth planks. Este went to the shelves and took down a straw tea-basket. She set this on the table and made an inviting gesture. Melkor jumped up onto the table and nosed the basket.

“What’s this?”

Este removed the lid very gently. “Mairon.”

Melkor looked into the basket. Snuggled into a nest of soft cushions and extremely fast asleep was a dormouse, its feathery tail curled neatly over its nose.

Este said serenely, “While He was in the Halls, Namo realised that He was trying to make Himself a _fana_ , quite reflexively, so We brought Him here, and this is what He produced. Obviously the form reflects His need for healing and rest, so We've made Him this little nest, and Our people are keeping an eye on Him until such time as He feels ready to re-enter consciousness at a more complex level.”

Melkor’s tail twitched and His muscles tensed. His teeth chattered, and He licked His lips. His pupils dilated and His ears came forward. Irmo looked mildly alarmed. Este replaced the lid without haste, picked up the basket and put it back onto its shelf (high up) in the alcove, Melkor’s stare following Her across the room with every step. Then He blinked, sat down and began, rather hurriedly, to wash. 

Irmo bustled quietly about, producing a bowl of cool water, which He set on the table next to His guest, and cups of tea for Este and Himself. Melkor broke off washing, crouched by the bowl and lapped delicately. The Healer and Her spouse knelt at the table and sipped tea politely.

“Well,” Melkor said at last, sitting up. “Thank You, that was, um, very nice. Perhaps I can come back again when He wakes up…”

“We’ll let You know as soon as He’s ready for conversation,” Este said. “And now perhaps You are ready for dinner.”

“Oh yes,” said Melkor.


	21. Meanwhile, singing in the rain...

It was raining in Tirion, the loveliest of its times and seasons. Beneath the lid of heavy grey above the city, the light of the Trees seemed to seethe and flow, and every falling drop burned with cool, living fire. Water streamed like molten metal in the gutters, and every leaf and eave dripped light. The whole city came out to laugh and dance in the mirror-bright puddles and the blazing raindrops, and sing in the mist that drifted among the trees and buildings, glowing silvery-gold with reflected glory.

Queen Indis burst into the West Verandah, shining soggily in the shimmering light that streamed in from the garden; crystalline drops spangled her hair and clothes, both of which were more or less drenched. At this Hour the colourful mats and low tables were unoccupied, except for her eldest daughter and the Deputy Director of the House of Knowledge, who had slipped away from the city-wide impromptu rain party to do some work together in peace. 

Findis looked up, startled, from the stack of documentation that she was annotating and the eight-part melody for four musicians stopped in mid-note (there were not actually four musicians present, merely Master Talagando, playing a dulcimer with casual virtuosity and two hammers in each hand).

“Mother, did you want to hear the algorhythms for the funicular? Master Talagando and I have almost finished revising the third draft…”

The Queen flung herself (squelching slightly) onto a convenient mat, motioning with one hand to Master Talagando to sit down again and waving the proffered documentation away with the other. A slightly panting equerry emerged from the corridor in her wake, dropped a towel onto her head and retreated, closing the light, silver-leafed double doors behind her. 

“Thank you, Talinte, just wait for me outside for a moment, will you?” The Queen wielded the towel briskly. From underneath, slightly muffled, she said,

“Later, dear, thank you. It sounds very nice, Master Talagando, that was the theme governing the reciprocal motion of the cables, wasn’t it?”

“Er, yes, Your Majesty.”

Indis emerged from the towel, slightly flushed and looking like nothing so much as a carelessly assembled dandelion. Findis fished in her pocket and held out a small, delicately carved boxwood comb, which her mother accepted graciously.

“It’s just as well that you’re here,” Indis said, as she reduced her hair to order with practiced efficiency. “I need some advice urgently.” 

Master Talagando began assembling his belongings. “Your Majesty, my lady, I’ll just be…”

“No, no,“ the Queen said, waving him to sit down again. “It’s you I need. Dear Nerdanel is back. The boys are back. _Feanor_ is back. And he wants to see me!”

Her audience blinked as one. “Um,” Findis said. “What about Father?”

“What about the Director?” asked Master Talagando at the same moment. They exchanged slightly embarrassed smiles.

“Returning soon, both of them,” Indis said with a certain dry amusement. “But not quite yet. Master Talagando, I understand that your colleagues are still badgering Lord Namo for information on the Creature, so Director Calondis and my husband will stay until they are done, or until Lord Namo loses patience and ejects them all, whichever is the sooner.”

Nerdanel, sensible woman, decided that the boys were getting spoiled by how easy it is to theorise when you don’t have to deal with being embodied. So they’re back, and, to his credit, young Feanor is back as well. At Lord Aule’s House, for the moment. Nerdanel came ahead, she said, particularly to speak to me.”

“And, ah,” Master Talagando ventured, “Lord Feanor has asked for an audience?”

Indis snorted with laughter, then sobered. She looked down at the hand still holding Findis’ comb, frowned slightly and returned it to her daughter.

“Yes. That is, he respectfully requests the grace of a meeting with me at my earliest convenience. Nerdanel says that he and the boys are taking the next elephant caravan to TIrion from Lord Aule’s, so that would be about seven Days from now.”

She reached for the damp towel discarded on the mat, folded it with quick, absent-minded neatness and set it aside. “Dear Nerdanel put a great deal of emphasis on the words ‘respectfully requests’ and ‘grace’, and made a point of telling me that she was conveying his exact words.”

There was a short, stunned silence, before Master Talagando said what they were all thinking. “That’s…quite extraordinary, Your Majesty.”

Findis, astonished into bluntness, said, “What did Lord Namo and Lady Vaire _do_ to him?”

Indis gazed back at them helplessly. “My dears, I…have no idea. This is completely…” She threw her hands up. “I told dear Nerdanel that I’d see him, of course, I couldn’t not, but we haven’t exchanged a word, civil or otherwise, in the last half-Age. What is the appropriate form? It would be quite wrong to use the throne room, and even if he is technically my, my, ah, _step-son_..." (a unique word specially invented by the _Lambengolmor_ , applicable only to Feanor and by extension, perforce, to Indis) "...I think he would be terribly uncomfortable in my private receiving-room.” 

Vanya and half-Vanya looked to the Noldo present for resolution of this tricky point of Noldorin etiquette. Master Talagando quailed, but rose to the occasion.

“Umm…the garden is always correct and would be most suitable, Your Majesty. No offence can be taken if you receive him in the garden. Perhaps the pavilion by the white lotus pond? With light refreshments? At the end of the Hours of Gold, during the Mingling?”

He paused to recruit his nerves. Indis patted him kindly on the arm. “An excellent suggestion, Master Talagando! Thank you very much.”

Findis said, “Clothes? What will you wear, Mother?”

Indis looked down at her jacket and trousers, now almost dry. They were dyed in an indigo so intense and deep that it almost glowed. A subtle design of peach-blossom and peacocks in a marginally lighter shade was visible on the jacket in direct light, but the suit was otherwise unadorned, the beauty of the dye its principal feature.

“This, I think.”

Master Talagando nodded. “Appropriate garden wear for the Hour and occasion, of finest quality but dignified and unobtrusive. Very suitable, Your Majesty.”

Indis squared her shoulders. “Yes. Thank you. I am grateful for your advice, Master Talagando. Findis, dear, we can discuss the draft once you’re satisfied. I must have a word with dear Nerdanel, she should have unpacked by now. She can tell me what refreshments he would prefer, too. Master Talagando, do please stay for dinner, she will be there and I am sure that you will have much to discuss.” 

She picked up the towel, leapt to her feet and vanished through the doors. “Talinte!”

Left alone, Findis and Master Talagando looked at each other. It was still raining outside, though as the Mingling and the Hours of Silver approached the sounds of revelry were growing quieter.

Master Talagando glanced around, reached for the tea-basket, fished out the tea-pot and re-filled their cups. “We could just try to finish this while we can,” he offered. 

Findis nodded. “Yes. Once Feanor’s back…” She looked down at the comb she was still holding, put it back into its pocket and shuffled through her notes. “Can we listen to the sequence beginning at bar 42692? I’m not sure about the specifications for the counterbalance mechanism. It sounds as if the hexatonic transpositions are causing a minor destabilisation in the consonant triads….”


	22. In which seeds come to fruition

A constant relay of ships from the north had been unloading supplies at the newly-completed port (now named Londuin) for weeks. The massed orchestras (every Elf on site who could sing or play an instrument, and wasn’t needed for anything else, basically) were tuning up. Lord Aulë had declared Himself in charge of the catering and delicious smells drifted over the site from where His people and the local chapter of the School of Applied and Theoretical Gastronomy were cooking madly for the feast afterwards. Lord Nólofinwe and his engineers were running “just one more test to make absolutely sure”.

After extensive discussion in committee (chaired by Lady Fionwe, as the most senior Elf present and also the most patient) the Order of Proceedings had been finalised, cleared with Lady Vana, who had volunteered to be Mistress of Ceremonies, disseminated and rehearsed. The Kings and Queens of the Eldar were not present, but were represented by their children, a deliberate, symbolic gesture. 

“All ready?” Vana asked. She and Yavanna were already in place at the top of the new hill, now called Palisanwa. The spiral path downwards was filled with people, waiting. In the air above Them, Oromë and Nahar circled the hill like friendly guardian vultures. At Her side Lady Calapessë tilted her head, listening to the mental reports coming in. “Lord Nólofinwe is on his way. There was a mud-slide on the upper slope and he had to go and change. “

“He’d better hurry,” Vana said. “The King and Queen are here already.” And indeed high above them great sheets of light flamed and rippled, green and rose and golden across the dark sky; while at ground level the gentle, unnaturally warm breeze signalled the attention of the Elder King.

“He’s in position,” Calapessë said, and dashed for the shelter of the slope, leaving the wide expanse of the hilltop to the Earthqueen and Her sister.

Vana stepped forward, smiling, Her robe of flowers swirling about Her, and flung Her arms open. Across the site every lamp went out, and a great chord filled the silence, ringing from every throat on the hill. Other voices rose from the mountainside, the Maiar joining the Elves in song, as the orchestras began to play a solemn, stately measure. Through the air the Seeds came sailng in their full blazing ripeness, trailing light and a wash of heat in their wake. They soared to the top of Palisanwa, then dipped to meet Yavanna’s welcoming hands. 

The voices rose to a crescendo, and each Seed sank gracefully into the bed that had been prepared for it. Their light was hidden as the earth sank inwards to cover them, but the music went on, serene and unquenchable, as the Elves surged forward onto the hill-top. Under the stars and Varda’s glory, Elves and Maiar and Valar waited together in solemn hope and joy, and sang.

And then from the dark earth a spark was struck, a single shoot emerging, silver and blindingly-bright. Yavanna’s voice rose above all others in a great shout of triumph, echoed a heartbeat later by he ice-clear call of the Valaróma. Away by the reservoir Lord Nólofinwe and his people took their cue, and the sequestered waters leapt and rushed downwards, adding their own notes to the music, filling the empty canals and pools excavated to receive them. At first the reflections that sparkled from their surface were purely silver, but not too long afterwards gold joined it, as the second new shoot pushed its way out of the earth.

There was a wild, not unmusical clangour, rather like an avalanche of bronze gongs. Nessa and Tulkas materialised on the hill and the music changed dramatically as the Dancer whirled into the midst of the musicians.

“Come!” She shouted, the beat of Her drum taking the music and flinging it into a new measure. “Dance! Dance with Me!” 

And dance they did, in a laughing, light-footed tangle of folk, swirling round the bright shoots, and Yavanna standing green-robed and tall between them, smiling with Her hands upraised and light growing and growing and growing on Her either side. 

The younger tree, Laurelin’s golden son, they called Lassinaro, Leaves of Fire, and the elder, Telperion’s bright daughter, they named Alcarossë, Rain of Glory. They were slower to reach Their full height than Their parents, but Their light was not less, and beneath its blessing the land grew green, and flowered, as the seeds that the Yavannildi had planted sprang to life. In the newly-bright coastal waters coral insects woke and began their work, and great beds of seaweed stretched upwards towards the light. As the air warmed, clouds gathered, and the rain fell, shining, and in once-dark Avathar Ulmo’s waters sang a new song.

 

“Well, that was very nice,” Nessa said in the Mahanaxar later, toasting Her colleagues in Aulë’s new wine (an innovative and complicated process involving secondary fermentation in the bottle to produce carbonation, of which He was very proud). “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Yavanna said graciously. “Vana did most of the work, herding the Eldar.”

Vana drank more wine and snuggled into Oromë’s arm (the Mahanaxar was presently imitating a comfortable sitting-room in the Telerin style, with plenty of driftwood settles and brightly-coloured cushions). “It wasn’t too bad really, except for all the arguments. Sixteen dozen and nine rounds of voting just to get the name of the place! ”

“Oh they’ve finally named it?” Oromë smiled fondly down at His spouse. “Every time I asked, I was told that the Committee hadn’t decided yet.”

“Calimaldar,” said Nessa. “You weren’t paying attention. They mentioned it in the speeches at the feast.”

Oromë snorted. “You expect Me to listen to speeches?”

“They were good,” Vana said with mild reproach. “Very eloquent. Lovely use of language, Melkor said.”

“I’m sure.” 

“Speaking of Melkor,” Nessa said, “How is He?” There had been a bit of an incident with the new Trees. 

“He’s in Valmar, sulking,” Yavanna said with heartless good humour. “He’ll get over it. Aulë has promised to build Him Valinor’s best scratching-post instead."


	23. In which there is a cautious but significant conversation

“It has been strongly impressed upon me,” Feanor said, gazing fixedly at a bright green and blue dragonfly perched on the nearest lotus flower, “…that I have done you an injustice.” He paused. “More than one.”

Sitting cross-legged on her mat, Indis adjusted her countenance to show “sympathetic attention”, rather than, for instance, “cringing embarrassment", and likewise contemplated the white lotuses blooming in the pond. She did not try to reply to this quite unanswerable comment. No Vanya, even a cheerful, extravert, socially-oriented one, had problems dealing with silence.

Not that it was particularly quiet. Several different wind instruments were playing in the vicinity of the White Lotus Pavilion (in a gentle, rippling mode, to suit the hour of the Mingling). The breeze riffled vigorously through the lychee trees and bamboo that surrounded the pool; it stirred the silver-gold gleam of the water, and carried the delicate scent of the lotuses to the Queen and her visitor. The Pavilion itself was hexagonal and steep-roofed; its walls were of intricately pierced wooden lattices, lacquered in several shades of green, silver and gold, and screened by a vigorous double white-flowered blue-pea vine.

Indis had received her husband’s son on the raised verandah overlooking the pond. It was sheltered on either side by the extended walls of the Pavilion, and allowed them both to converse without having to look each other in the eye too often. The intricately embroidered green cushions were new, as were the bamboo mats, but the tea-set and the lovely, lotus-shaped porcelain lamps were still those made by Finwe himself two Ages ago when the Pavilion had first been built. She had consulted Nerdanel about Feanor’s tastes in tea (and chosen his second favourite, so as not to be too obvious) and the snacks were a judicious mixture to suit both of them. Feanor had not, of course, commented on anything, let alone offered a compliment, but she had seen his shoulders ease very slightly when he sat down.

Feanor did not pursue the subject directly. Instead he said, “I understand that you were my mother’s friend.” This was not a subject that either she or Finwe had ever tried to raise. Finwe had professed to consider it irrelevant and she had lacked the nerve (in retrospect, she suspected that he had not had the nerve either).

“Yes,” Indis said. “From the time that we were children together by Cuivienen. Though we saw less of each other during the March, of course. It was a great joy to me to meet her again by the shores of the Great Sea, before our peoples crossed together. Even after we Minyar went up to Valmar I saw her often, whenever she and Finwe came to visit us, or when I went to Tirion.”

She left a judicious pause in her turn. When he did not fill it, she poured him more tea and slid the plate of delicacies in his direction. He eyed the candied quince and ginger sweetmeats thoughtfully and took a cracker loaded with potted shrimp (Indis was not particularly fond of shellfish) instead. But he drank the tea.

Indis drew a breath of lotus-scented air. “How does she fare, in the Halls?”

Miriel's son said, with careful civility, “Well enough. She sends you her greetings and her...,” the world of turbulent emotion in that hesitation would have been perceptible even to Lord Tulkas, “…her love.”

Indis said, “I thought…when Lord Namo confirmed that she had chosen not to return…my first thought was, “Lady Vaire must be teaching her so much!”. Her Art…her Art was so consuming a thing for her, always…,” Feanor made to speak and she said, very fast, “When you were conceived she was shocked… I think she was shocked, by how much you mattered to her as well.” She blinked hard and drank more tea.

“You... _discussed_ me with her?” His surprise was genuine. Feanor was not capable of hiding his heart from a royal Vanya, least of all in the present circumstances.

Indis put down her teacup with perhaps a little more noise than necessary and looked him in the eye. He managed not to flinch. “Of course we discussed you!” she said. “You were the first person since your father who got her interested in any Art but textiles! Do you know how much work she put into designing your genome? She went to the Yavannildi and studied their Art with them for _years_!”

He said, very quietly, but with enough suppressed force to make the structure of the Pavilion shiver a little around them, “ _Then why did I kill her?_ ” 

That had not been a premeditated question either. Indis ran through the possible responses that she could make, and opted for deceptively undecorated truthfulness.

“I think she miscalculated the energy requirements of her design. To sustain a child with both your father’s fire and hers…she overestimated her own strength.” 

She hoped very hard that he would not ask the next, to her mind, logical question, “How did Nerdanel survive seven, then?” 

Because for one thing, unlike Miriel, Nerdanel had been willing to submit her designs for her sons to peer review before implementing them. Indis had been very angry with Miriel for a long time, once she had worked out what had probably happened; but Miriel’s son did not need to know that, just at this moment. The Queen took a calming glance at the pond. A stork-billed kingfisher blazed across the water, all fiery red and gold and blue, water sparkling as fish dived for cover in its wake. The light was fading to silver and the music was changing its character to suit, from quiet cheerfulness to the serenity of the Hours of Silver.

The Song was with her. It seemed that Feanor was willing to accept “parameter error” as an explanation, at least from her. As an added blessing it appeared that he was also disinclined to discuss whatever had passed in the Halls among him, his father and his mother. 

Instead he re-filled their tea-cups, and asked, “Who are the musicians? I can hear Talagando but I don’t know the others. His students?”

Indis smiled with sheer relief. “That,” she said, “is indeed Master Talagando, with Findis, Faniel, Arafinwe and Lalwende, in the “'Privacy' Quintet for Wind Instruments At Frequencies Between 50 and 600Hertz(1)”.

Feanor listened. “To cover our voices?” 

Indis nodded. After a moment, he added, “That was a clever idea.” After another moment, “Talagando does good work.”

“He does,” Indis said. “I saw no reason to make this a public meeting, even though ears have been flapping all over the city since dear Nerdanel came back. Master Talagando was kind enough to compose a suitable piece at short notice, and the children have practiced very hard. ”

After a pause, as the music continued, “They’re not bad,” her…stepson said. “Especially for their age.” 

Indis decided that it would be cruel to continue making him find small talk about his siblings, even if, as she suspected, he was getting cues from Nerdanel through _osanwe_. She moved to the first of her list of Unexceptionable General Topics of Conversation.

“I expect that you know of the public lectures that the House of Knowledge is planning, based on your expedition’s findings and, er, subsequent research, once everyone is home. Master Talagando has been discussing the assignment of the spaces and the adjustments to the existing schedule with me. Could you and Nerdanel help us with the programme? We would be very grateful."

Feanor was graciously willing to make suggestions. He spoke respectfully of Master Callasimo and Mistress Vaiwe, the _osanwe_ specialists, and their researches in the Halls. He did not immediately leap to his feet and storm out even when Indis asked him to persuade the King to speak as well.

“From what the Powers tell me,” the Queen said, very seriously, “It was only Finwe’s strength of heart that broke you all free of the Creature’s clutches, and got you safely to the Halls. The people should know that.”

There was a very long silence. Then Finwe’s son nodded, and said, “Yes. You are right.”

He did not stay long after that. Indis escorted him to the door into the House (Nerdanel had moved firmly into the extensive suite of rooms in the family wing that was always kept ready), and they parted with all courtesy. 

She returned to the Pavilion and hugged her weary but triumphant children (and also Master Talagando, who bore it stoically) before sending them all off for dinner in the City as a treat, at least for the younger ones. Left in peace, she finished the tea and the candied quince, and made a mental note to have a very long talk with Finwe, whenever he got around to returning to Tirion.

 

(1)A translation into English of the Quenya equivalent, of course.


	24. In which the King returns

“They’re in sight!” 

Excitement stirred in the crowd in the Great Square of Tirion; people started to stand, and the volume of chatter rose. Most of the City was actually down by the Arch of Entry, or lining the streets leading up the hill, or out along Bright Road waiting for the procession to arrive from the western mouth of the Calacirya; but there were still plenty of people to crowd the Great Square, fall in the fountains and stake out strategic positions near the processional way or their favourite cook-stalls . Finwe the King was returned, from death and the Gardens of Lorien, and his people gathered in joy (and considerable relief) to welcome him home. 

Nor were they alone. The other Kings and Queens of the Eldar had come as well to greet their brother ruler, and considerable numbers of their subjects had come along to join the party. Vanyar and Teleri mingled with the Noldor in the square, adding their languages and music to the general racket. 

Feanor and Nerdanel were waiting at the Arch of Entry below, with Findis and assorted other senior members of the City administration. Queen Indis and her other children were stationed at the Great Square, together with the grandchildren, High King Ingwe and High Queen Laurien of the Vanyar (and All Elves, though they rarely bothered with that particular title), and King Olwe and Queen Falmariel of the Teleri. 

Leaves and flowers had been thickly strewn to mark a wide, processional path leading from the East Gate of the Square to where the royal party was seated, on a raised platform under Galathilion’s mighty boughs. Quick-growing sweet-peas had been hurriedly encouraged to twine and bloom around its posts and pots of scented but thorny herbs lined the processional way, to encourage the crowd to keep clear. Musicians massed around the main fountain to keep in sight of Master Talagando, directing from a podium built at the top of the steps to the House of Knowledge. Due to space being reserved around the podium for the School of Musical Engineering and their equipment, the members of the House had overflowed next door to the steps of the King’s House, where there was some discreet elbowing for space with the staff of the King’s House, seated decorously in their own order.

Stands for every cook-stall in town, and many for visiting chefs from both Alqualonde and Valmar (organised by the Tirion branch of the School of Applied and Theoretical Gastronomy, which administered the catering profession in the City) lined the edge of the Square and all the streets into it. Delicious smells wafted across the Square, almost but not quite overwhelming the delicate scent of the sweet-peas, and Galathilion’s own blossoms. Brilliantly-coloured banners and streamers, both material and hologramatic, rippled across buildings throughout the City, and fluttered from the eaves of the Mindon Eldaliéva at every storey all the way to the top.(1)

The distant, triumphant trumpeting of multiple elephants signalled that the procession had reached the foot of Túna hill and the great arch that led into the City. A great cheer rose in the distance. The royal party rearranged itself on its cushions and came to alertness.

“Ah,” said Indis. “That will be the presentation of the new crown.” 

High King Ingwe bent his stately, silver-wreathed head towards his sister. “A gift in token of his home-coming?” 

He and his High Queen were dressed identically, in long, white ankle-length wrapped skirts and white, sleeveless tunics that fell to the knee. The only difference was that the intricate brocade on his costume was silver, while hers was gold. The silver wreath that crowned him bore leaves of dark green jade and cherry-blossom-like flowers of carved white moonstone, while the High Queen wore gold, with leaves carved of peridot, and boat-shaped flowers of yellow amber swinging in long strings on either side of her face.

“In celebration!” Indis said cheerfully. “Feanor made it specially. I haven’t seen it, but dear Nerdanel assures me that it is spectacular.” Her own crown was modest, a delicate, elegant affair of gold filigree set with pale sapphires in different colours, sitting neatly on the cap of her hair. In contrast to the rainbow of brilliant colours that was her children, her wrapped skirt and sleeveless vest were a simple pale blue, beaded all over with a pattern of stylised clouds in white and silver.

The Ciryatari, listening, smiled with a certain wry affection. “The jewelsmiths come by regularly to add new colours of gemstones to the beaches,” King Olwe said. “It’s something useful for them to do with their culls, so as not to waste them.”

“I don’t recall who first suggested it, but it was an excellent idea,” said Queen Falmariel. “We put a lot of them in the places at high risk of erosion; it helps a great deal. And they _are_ pretty. The colours are lovely, and their light is not so bright that it interferes with the starlight or the sea-life. So convenient for beach parties, too.” Like her spouse, her trousers and long-sleeved, calf-length tunic were dyed in subtle shades of blue, green and violet, and her dark hair hung in a single long plait ornamented with dark pearls that shimmered rainbow-like with the same colours.

The surf-like roar outside the Square, which had not really died down after its first uprising, had been growing steadily louder. There was a general stir; the crowd swirled and eddied like kaleidoscopically-coloured rapids. The School of Musical Engineering bustled into activity around Master Talagando’s feet. The royal party gave up trying to make conversation physically and switched to _osanwe_.

 _I think you might have broken the sailing record for that distance_ Queen Falmariel remarked to Lord Nolofinwe.

_It doesn’t count_ the Prince replied, _Calapessë asked one of the Suruli for help, so I had clear water and a terrific following wind all the way. I got in just in time to catch the elephant train coming up from Falastirion. Those little cutters are wonderfully speedy._

_Aren’t they,_ the Ship-queen replied. _We use them in the Alqualonde-to-Falastirion races, you know._

_So she said! Perhaps we could have a longer one as well now, Alqualonde-to-Calimaldar. I’m going to learn to sail, once I get back._

_An excellent idea,_ the Queen said approvingly. _Everyone should know how to handle a boat._

She glanced at the East Gate of the square. _Here they are!_

The roar of the crowd rose to deafening volume and everyone who was not already standing surged to their feet. Master Talagando signaled with his fan. Gongs thundered and trumpets sounded, strong, sweet and irresistibly insistent; untuned tumult resolved magically into the opening notes of the welcome song. At his feet the sonic converters woke to life, transforming ambient sound into curving geometrical shapes of multi-coloured light that mingled with Laurelin’s rich radiance, and flowered in the air over all the assembled company.

King Finwe stood beneath the graceful arch of the East Gate, hands raised in greeting. Garlands of vivid flowers draped his neck and his smile was open and infectious as ever, his joy and pride in his people unconcealed. On his right Feanor and Nerdanel, hand in hand and similarly adorned, conveyed sober happiness suitable for those who had been through Namo’s august halls. Findis on his left danced on her toes like a child, laughing as one of the three separate wreaths of blossoms on her head slipped over one eye. Director Calondis, just behind them, caught sight of Master Talagando on his podium, conducting as if he had never had a shy hair on his head, and abandoned the dignity of her office to grin from ear to ear.

The Valar had gathered on Ezellohar by Telperion’s great buttress roots to enjoy the party from a discreet distance. Aulë was passing around cherry tarts and cheese straws (cheese was something of a rarefied taste in Aman, since only the Avari practiced animal husbandry on any kind of scale; Aulë made a point of encouraging them, as a kindness). Tulkas had brought several vast jugs of flower-scented mead, which Este and Irmo were distributing in delicate bowls of white porcelain.

“Isn’t that lovely,” sighed Nessa, leaning back in Her husband’s arms and taking a swig of Her mead. Both of them were propped comfortably against a root, gazing out at the distant cleft of the Calacirya. The sounds of revelry were faint, but of course perfectly audible to Them. “It’s so nice when everyone’s happy.”

“Mmm,” said Vana, slightly distracted. Melkor was sprawled on Her lap with His eyes closed, having His tummy stroked and His ears scratched at the same time. His paws kneaded the air and His tail curled inwards in ecstasy, and the ground vibrated faintly from the rumbling thunder of His purr. A silver bowl on the grass nearby contained the remnants of a roasted duck, and another was filled with fresh water from the nearby spring (which was not Ulmo, Who had joined the party in Tirion, as one of the fountains in the Great Square). He had been perched on one of Galathilion’s branches for a while, watching the excitement, but the noise, the crowds, the general lack of attention to Him in the midst of the upheaval and the promise of lunch had driven Him back to the Mound.

Oromë said to Vairë, Who was sitting next to Him nibbling genteelly at a cherry tart, “How are You two doing with the Abyssal, then?”

Since His spouse was occupied, Namo, on Her other side, replied, “It has stabilised somewhat, now that We have It in a quiet, non-stimulating environment. There has been no change in Its parameters, but We are not expecting any for some time.” Oromë, knowing His colleague’s habits of speech, interpreted this correctly as meaning “not for several geological ages at least”. 

A little down the slope, Nienna smiled warmly at Yavanna and asked, “How are the new Trees doing?”

The Earthqueen stretched and yawned, as relaxed and supple as a snake on the jewel-green grass. “Beautifully, thank You. We’re seeing some really interesting things evolving. Uinen is very pleased at the way the new corals are coming on along the coast too. Though it still doesn’t help My problem with Middle…”

She stopped in mid-word. Across the grass Her spouse looked up and was still, hospitality forgotten.

In the Great Square of Tirion, Finwe had walked his path of leaves and flowers and music to his Queen, and taken her hands in his, smiling at her as if they were alone. On his dark head three gemstones swung from a delicate diadem that opened like nacreous wings above his brow. Each one shone, impossibly, with the light of the Mingling; together they gathered the swirl of light and colour that filled the Great Square and gave it back, redoubled and living, as if each was the eye of some sudden and lovely bird, come directly into being from Her hand and mind.

 

(1) Aka the Tower of Ingwe, which looks like this, but much more so: http://www.traveljournals.net/pictures/158968.html


	25. In which new light is shed on an old problem

_FIVE_

Nerdanel emerged from coadunation with a gasp; the sudden diminution of her awareness into one, strictly delimited, embodied self was always a shock. However often it happened, over however long a period, one did not get used to sharing part of an Ainu’s experience of being (her father had warned her, at the beginning of the project). One of the health-and-safety team brought her a cup of tea, still steaming. She waited for her hands to steady, and took it with a word of thanks; the rest of the shift was doing the same. She looked around anyway as she sipped, checking. The next shift was already flat on their mats, eyes closed. Hers were all sitting up, some still slightly groggy as they drank their tea and munched their sugar biscuits; no-one looked overstrained at the moment. 

Master Tinwe, a Maia of Estë seconded to the team, caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. There would be food in the next room; He would shepherd everyone over there for soup and fruit in a minute. Working mind-to-mind even with the Maiar, let alone with the Mountain-Maker Himself, was a stress that even the most enthusiastic of the Eldar could not bear beyond a certain point. Nerdanel as overall team co-ordinator had given Master Tinwe final say on when any of them should stop to rest (she had had to be extremely firm with both Fëanor and Aulë; both of them tended to confuse Fëanor’s intellectual capacity with his physical strength).

All the resources of Valinor had been made available for this project, without question (Queen Indis had resignedly signed off on the secondment of most of the House of Knowledge, and finished the work for the Tirion funicular herself). Fëanor had not needed more than several dozen reams of paper, a lot of sharp pencils, and a bench-top’s worth of equipment to design and make the Silmarils. Transposing his original insight into something that could light the whole of Arda required rather more: a full-scale biology, high-energy physics, high-temperature engineering, and materials team of Aulendili and Yavannildi, together with Maiar of both affiliations, and a manufacturing facility of a size and capability never before seen by incarnate eyes. An entire new volcanic island, in fact, raised above and fuelled by the long hydrothermal vents that marked the seam between Middle-earth and Aman. Tol Elen, called Star Island from its five-pointed shape, flaring outwards from its huge central peak, the focus and chimney for the forces that raged far below: Meneltamin, the Forge of Heaven. 

 

_FOUR_

“We think that we’ve got something usable for the guide score,” Findis said. 

The composition studio was well away from the Meneltamin, and its constant, subliminal hum of power. Lady Ilmarë, Master Talagando, Findis and the rest of the Applied Composition Team had set up at the tip of the western-most peninsula of the island. There they were surrounded by the Sea’s music, and the encircling stars, and far away, a line on the southwestern horizon, glowed always the distant light of Calimaldar. Fortunately, Tol Elen was reasonably comfortable in temperature, its black and rocky surface bare but still slightly warmed by the fires of its birth. Sea-mammals, penguins and other sea-birds were already colonising its beaches, and their racket added the comforting music of life to the work that was being done there. Melkor had turned up, and made some useful suggestions, but the absence of suitable prey (metaphysical monsters were one thing, but arising in might to slaughter an elephant seal was, even He had to admit, a bit _infra dig_ ) had eventually bored Him into going home to Vana’s garden.

In the central pavilion, specialists from the Halls of Waiting had set up a huge and beautifully-detailed relief model of Arda. The Maiar had assured Nerdanel that it went down to the level of individual trees (the Loom of Vaire recorded _everything_ ); for her own amusement Nerdanel had shipped the scanning electron microscope from her own laboratory over to confirm the accuracy of this assertion, since not even the eyes of the Eldar could not see so closely unaided.

“We’ve been running simulations,” Lady Ilmarë explained to Yavanna, Aulë, and Nerdanel, “to establish the parameters for the New Lights’ optimal routes, taking into account Your concerns, Ma’am, and the feedback from Melian and the others in Middle-earth.”

She hummed a complex sequence of microtones, and two small sparks winked into existence over the model, gliding in complex arcs and parabolas. As they moved, the model shifted beneath them to show the advance, retreat and change of vegetation across the world according to the different their different paths.

“Hmm,” Aulë leaned forward. “You’re planning for seasonality, then?”

“It maximises the number of possible bio-geographic provinces and therefore overall bio-diversity,” Yavanna said. “And minimises the inevitable reduction of the nocturnal niche.”

Lady Ilmarë nodded. “The composition includes frequent, regular periods of darkness, when neither light will be in the sky. Apart from the loss of the Lady’s great mitigation of the Lamp-Fall, the Quendi in Middle-earth would be very unhappy to lose sight of Our Queen’s stars.”

The two lights had finished their dance and begun again. They rose above Tol Elen one after the other, and proceeded in stately sequence across the Girdle of Arda, passing over a single uplifted peak near the centre of Middle-earth, and onwards to the Uttermost East of the world, where the Mindon Romenya rose, Taniquetil’s lesser sibling (now due for some additional uplift in the near future, consistent with its projected new role). Then they glided in widening arcs, one north and the other south, each sweep longer than the last, but always beginning and ending at Tol Elen and the Mindon Romenya, until the curves intersected the furthest points North and South, and they reversed course. At the central arc, they passed each other, and each repeated its back-and-forth journey in the opposite direction.

Master Talagando joined his voice to Ilmarë’s for a moment and a complex overlay of notation appeared above the model, describing minutely the passage of each light.  
“There will be two principal inter-related themes,” Findis said, “but capable of infinite variation, singly and together, since every moment of each course will be different, depending on Who is singing, and on the relative positions of each light, and on everything that is happening around and below. And we’re working on similar but slightly different themes for the spares.”

Yavanna blinked. “Spares?”

 

_THREE_

“The skyships are ready!” Aulë announced, beaming. 

There was a polite cheer from His assembled colleagues. Those of the Valar not directly involved in the great work had got into the habit of gathering in the Mahanaxar at intervals for updates. At the moment Oromë was doing the decorating, so it looked like a glade in a cool, wet forest of giant grey-barked eucalypts, towering a hundred metres and more. Wisps of mist wreathed their trunks, and tree ferns sprang from the mossy ground beneath their twisting branches. A wide, rushing stream fell into a waterfall at one end, and golden light filtered and spread gently through mist and silver-green leaves. 

A cloud of delicate ground orchids, white-petalled with deep purple speckles, fluttered like moths in a sudden breeze and resolved into Vana.

“Congratulations, brother!” She said, sitting down on a fallen log; Her flowery skirt spread out and began colonising the moss around Her. Her spouse, who was wearing the form of a very large thylacine, rubbed His long muzzle against Her shoulder; She stroked His striped, furry back fondly. 

Nessa surfaced from the pool at the base of the waterfall, and propped Herself up on the bank with Her elbows, water running off Her hair (green to match the decor) and shoulders. 

“Have We decided on the crews yet?”

Aulë looked pleased and gratified. “We have a lot of volunteers,” He said. “Nerdanel has suggested a roster. Tulkas wants to have a go, of course.”

The thylacine sniffed. “He’ll be bored after the first round.”

Nessa growled and flicked water at Him. He hissed in response, and burrowed under Vana’s orchid skirt, which absorbed the droplets without fuss and started producing seed-heads. 

Irmo, who was sitting with Estë and a tea-basket on a bench next to the pool, said peaceably, “You can get Him to test the volunteers, can’t you?”

Aulë nodded. “We don’t want to discourage anyone who wants to participate, so we’re letting everyone try out, and then we’ll make a short-list.”

Oromë emerged cautiously from the orchids. “If You take that flibbertygibbet Tilion,” He said, “Make sure that He has someone tough to keep an eye on Him.”

Nessa said with mild indignation, “Tilion has really good hand-eye co-ordination! He’s perfectly capable of steering a ship.” 

The thylacine yawned, showing off His fangs, and curled up at His spouse’s feet, nose on striped flank. “Nice chap, very good eye, but the attention span of a retarded goldfish, You know that.”

Vana sighed and patted His head. “I’m sure He will do perfectly well. And He wouldn’t be alone, anyway.”

“There’ll be at least three per crew,” Aulë said. “Especially at the start. One to steer, one to navigate and one to keep an eye on whatever goes on below. Sharp eyes would be an advantage. There’ll be several relief crews for each ship, and of course we’ll need maintenance and security people at all the way-stations too.”

“Mmm.” Nessa’s smile of happy anticipation had on more than one occasion in the Good Old Days inspired Melkor’s more high-maintenance partisans to change their minds about the whole rebellion business and surrender at once.

“One thing I did think Melkor was right about. We should have forward bases in Middle-earth, for reconnaissance and surveillance. Just in case. Though not like Utumno, of course.” Her dancing feet had crushed its walls into rubble. “Surely that Angband place wasn’t His _only_ back-up fortress.”

 

_TWO_

The ships hung in Ilmen like glass baubles on a curtain of starry night, swinging at anchor off the topmost horn of Taniquetil, hard by Ilmarin itself. _Lauramë_ was the vessel of the Golden Light, and _Tarilma_ the bearer of the Silver. Their silence awaited its breaking, and the coming of their destined cargo.

For the first time in decades, all the Elven members of the New Light Project team were together in one place. This was the culmination of their effort, the greatest achievement of their species to date, but now it had moved beyond them, into the realm where only the gods could move unaided. Nonetheless they were there in honour in the great domed hall of Ilmarin, shielded by Varda’s power and watching through Her sight, as Ilmarë and Arien (in Their true forms, too splendid for bodily eyes to bear) manoeuvred two shining cores of light, one silver and one gold, into their waiting containments.

 _Lauramë_ and _Tarilma_ blazed from within like lit crystal for an instant, and were as swiftly quenched.

Beside her, Nerdanel felt her husband’s fingers clench on hers. She returned the pressure reassuringly. “It’s just the polarising filters,” she murmured, though he knew it as well as she (he had helped her design them). “So that the additional energy input doesn’t cause trouble for the ecology on this side of the world. They’ll open up once they reach Tol Elen.”

On her other side Director Calondis let her breath out in a little sigh. “We’ve really done it,” she said in a tone of faint wonder. Hers were the meticulously ordered lists and categories of information that the crews of the ships had been requested (ordered) to look out for and log on their passages. This was the greatest data-gathering opportunity the Yavannildi were ever going to be offered, and they were not going to let it pass.

“I need to get back to Tol Elen,” Fëanor said fretfully. “I’ve had some ideas about the temporal nucleation process that I want to test…”

The New Lights needed periodic replenishment from the Trees; they were not self-sustaining as the Silmarils were. Aulë (backed up by Yavanna, the Elder King and Queen and, most importantly, King Finwë) had persuaded Fëanor that scaling-up the temporal loop that he had managed to crystallise into the Silmarils was currently too high a risk. 

“If their containment fails and the energies within the Silmarils are loosed, the worst that could happen is that Tirion gets levelled,” He had pointed out, somewhat tactlessly. “If something goes wrong at the scale of the New Lights…” 

Fëanor had agreed in the end, not without a fair bit of sulking and a rant or two about the Powers’ lack of trust in the Song. He was only mollified by the promise that the Tol Elen facility would remain live and at his disposal for work on the next iteration of the Lights.

“Of course, dear,” Nerdanel said. “But we need to observe the New Lights for a while first, to see how they perform in the field. And while we’re on the mainland we should spend some time with the family, don’t you think? Your father says that he has been missing you, the past few decades.”

 

_ONE_

Taniquetil Control sang its single clear note, endlessly serene, painfully pure. _Hear….._

Answer came from the station on the Mindon Romenya, a faint, far chime from the other side of the world, then from the Formenyatir and the Hen Hyarmenya, almost as distant, at the northern and southern limits of Arda. Mother of Mountains, mightiest in Middle-earth, from the heart of the Great Lands Orontammë lifted her high, cold voice to answer the only mountain in Arda greater than she. Last of all sang Tol Elen, small and sweet-toned, youngest among lands, nearest to the Blessed Realm.

_Tuning…._

_Tuning…._

_Tuning…._

_Tuning…_

The voices wove endlessly around the central note, seeking consonance, building the structure that would shape all their interactions from henceforth. Music mightier than any sung since the beginning of the world rang out in solemn majesty across tree-tangled Middle-earth; and in the starry darkness both Men and Quendi looked up, wondering.

_Tuning…_

WE HAVE HARMONY

 

……………………………………………………..

_LAUNCH_

Manwe and Varda, enthroned in glory, gave Their blessing and the signal. And after a few hours’ flying time, there was light again in Middle-earth.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we take our leave.

Nerdanel strolled up the path from Valmar, humming gently in tune with the quiet chiming coming from her pocket. The path wound through the foothills, passing among light and shade by turns, but always sloping upwards through forests of cedar, oak and bamboo, mossy and cool. Black woodpeckers flapped and screeched in the dim, green distance, and closer by a copper pheasant, invisible in the undergrowth, croaked hoarsely. A family of serow, resting in a clump of alder a little way from the path, turned their horned heads and eyed her suspiciously but did not move.

As Telperion waned towards the Mingling, she stopped at a roadside pool, overhung by a fruiting longan tree and filled with white water-lilies; small, pink-speckled green frogs peeped on the lily-pads, ignoring her arrival. The pool was fed by a rivulet that sprang from the rocks above, and had been equipped for the convenience of travelers with a stone bench and a bamboo pipe to direct the water. Nerdanel helped herself to a bunch of longans from the nearest branch, conveniently reachable if one stood on the bench, then sat herself down, filled her cup and unwrapped the stuffed rice-ball that she had brought from Valmar for lunch. A large magpie-robin whistled sweetly in the longan tree as she ate; after a while he flipped himself down to a nearby branch, dark eyes bright and expectant. Nerdanel laid a few crumbs of minced possum on the bench; the magpie-robin hopped down, pecked them up and flapped back to his branch, where he resumed his liquid and lovely (and at that range, deafeningly loud) song.

Nerdanel looked up from finishing the longans. “Oh,” she said, and stood and bowed politely. “My apologies, Master Aiwendil. I hadn’t seen You dressed as this species before.”

The bird carried on singing, but now the notes carried more meaning than the standard avian “I’m here, this is mine, keep off!”

_No apologies necessary, Lady Nerdanel. Considering the racket from whatever that is that you’re carrying, I’m surprised that you heard Me at all. I was just passing by on My way to start My shift._

Master Aiwendil was the Lord of Passerines, among the most powerful and trusted of Lady Yavanna’s assistants, and a friend of Tyelcormo’s. He had also been appointed to oversee Melkor’s staffing roster, after the original incumbent had resigned in a huff and a spit (in retrospect even Yavanna had admitted that putting the Lord of Cats in charge had been a mistake; Tevildo had fled to Middle-earth, still sulking).

“I’m going up to Lady Vana’s garden too,” Nerdanel said, wadding up most of the leaves that had wrapped her lunch. She looked around, and deposited them tidily under the leaf litter, to join their fellows in the journey towards becoming humus.

“I have a present for Lord Melkor.”

The magpie-robin produced a perfect imitation of a laughing-thrush’s rippling chortle.

_Those things Singing in your pocket? Show!_

He stopped singing and fluttered down to the back of the bench. Nerdanel fished in her pocket and produced a pouch of grey velvet, which she emptied out onto her palm. Gold and silver light blossomed in her hand, echoing the Mingling that glowed in the sky above, and suddenly the world around them seemed deeper, brighter, weightier. 

_Hwheeet!_ Master Aiwendil hopped with excitement. _Are those the prototypes for the New Lights?_

Nerdanel held the shimmering, longan-sized jewels out so that He could see. They were smooth and completely spherical, and the complex, tripartite song they Sang was quite audible to those with ears and hearts to hear.

“They were made as part of the same project,” she said. “But more as my…proof of concept that the Silmarils could be, not copied, but made again. They are not the same as the originals, because Fëanor and I are not the same, but of the same family, as he and I are of the same family.”

Master Aiwendil cocked His head and peered down at the jewels. Their song modulated, responding to His attention.

 _Ah._ He said. _One-offs._

Nerdanel poured the stones back into the bag and pulled the drawstrings shut. It did not muffle their presence in the world.

"I suspect so. There’s a very…personal component involved. It wasn’t easy to make them. I don’t think that I could do it again."

He fluffed His feathers thoughtfully.

_And you want to give them to **Melkor**?_

“Yes, why not? I wasn’t planning to do anything particular with them and I remembered that He spent a lot of time in the lab, playing with the originals. I thought He might like having a set of His own.” 

She wrapped the seeds of the longans into the remaining leaves from lunch (the skins joined the leaves under the trees) and put them into her satchel. They were good fruit, juicy and flavourful, as shade-side varieties tended to be; she would plant them somewhere suitable when she got home to Tirion. Master Aiwendil whistled to Himself, but did not share His thought. By unspoken accord they went on up the path together, the magpie-robin fluttering from tree to tree to keep pace with the woman.

............................................................................

Higher up the slope Vana’s meadow was in full bloom, a shimmering, abstract tapestry of blue, white, yellow and pink petals, brilliant as stained glass in Laurelin’s light. Great clouds of iridescent blue and violet butterflies fluttered over the blossoms, swirling wildly as a small whirlwind of orange fur and ivory claws leaped and spun among them, in a frenzy of acrobatic and predatory joy.

“There,” Vana said, “Isn’t that lovely? I told You it would work.” She rooted in the basket beside Her. “Let’s see what Aulë has for Us this time…”

She, Irmo and Nienna were picnicking on an upper meadow, discreetly out of Melkor’s line of sight. Varda was there too, in the flood of honey-coloured light that poured over the hills, making Vana’s works gleam as brightly as any jewel of Aulë’s. 

Nienna folded Herself tidily down onto the grass and accepted a cup of plum wine and a delicate pastry stuffed with sweetened lotus-seed paste. 

“Your idea does seem to have worked rather well,” She conceded. “I certainly don’t remember seeing Him this happy since, well, since before there was a ‘before’. 

How long do You think it will last, though? Before He notices what is happening?”

Vana shrugged and bit into a strawberry wrapped in red bean paste and rice flour dough. 

Irmo said, dipping a crisp sesame wafer into His plum wine, “At some level He already knows. But one goal of this whole experiment was to inure Him to the habit of actual happiness, and the more accustomed to that state He becomes, the less willing He will be to take positive action to change it, unless He is pushed.” 

Nienna nodded and sipped her wine, appreciating the dry complexities of its flavour.

Vana mumbled around her strawberry (the rice flour dough was _extremely_ chewy), “It’s very convenient that Mairon is being a dormouse for now…”

 _Mairon is now a muskrat_ Varda said. _Estë has just informed Us. He is living in Her lake and seems stable, though still non-communicative. Certainly, disinclined to abandon the rodentid form._

“Oh well, even better!” the Lady of Spring said cheerfully, having successfully subdued Her sweetmeat. “Melkor’s not at all interested in the aquatic lifestyle.”

Irmo said, “This change really has been terribly good for Him. This is how He was just after Utumno fell.” A poly-dimensional mental schema too complex to be understood by any embodied being appeared in Their collective awareness. Though far larger and more intricate, it was in its essential aspects not unlike that of the Abyssal, still in protective custody in the Halls of Waiting. An unresting maelstrom of malice and greed, fearsome and fearful, chewing at the world in endless hungry rage.

“And here’s how Estë and I see Him now.” His colleagues looked, with a certain pleased wonder.

Nienna said, “Who would have thought that a psychological structure like that could be _healthy_? ”

Vana said smugly, “I would.” Her hair, skin and dress briefly changed colour to match the multi-hued splendor of Her garden; the cryptic colouring of an ambush predator. “He has everything He really wants now, with no harm to anyone. He would lose that if He went back to what He was before. And He could, You know. Now that He’s out of the Halls, even Angainor wouldn’t hold Him for long if he truly didn’t want to be held. The bell is just to give Us a bit of warning.”

The butterflies were both fast and agile, but every so often Melkor would catch one, rip it to pieces and eat it, before returning to the hunt with undiminished enthusiasm.

 _This is a temporary expedient._ Varda said. _But He seems content in this form, and until that changes, it would be kinder to leave Him in it. We had not thought to ever again see Our brother so willing to rejoice in His own being._

At the far end of the meadow, by one of the streams that seamed the turf with silver and gold, several of Melkor’s train of endlessly indulgent attendants were raising an elegant little pavilion (with a discreet box of soft, clean sand conveniently behind it) and two more were doing interesting things over a portable stove for His supper. Others were setting out a crystal bowl of spring-water, and silken cushions for His nap later. A silver brush and other grooming implements waited, ready on their matching tray, next to the scratching-post built for Him by Lord Aulë Himself. A Vanyarin musician polished the wooden bars of her xylophone, in readiness for performance; Melkor found the soft sound of the instrument particularly agreeable to sleep to. 

A gentle tripartite trill in the Song signaled the appearance of Master Aiwendil and Nerdanel at the far end of the meadow, among the trees that sheltered the downward path.

Vana leaned back against a convenient, light-warmed boulder, wiggled Her toes in a patch of scented geraniums (they bloomed instantly), and took a deep, satisfied gulp of plum wine. Nienna smiled to Herself over Her cup. Irmo closed His eyes and stretched out on the greensward, a clump of yellow ground orchids nodding gently over His head in the warm breeze that had joined Them in the last few moments.

In the golden light a golden cat danced, chasing butterflies.

****************************************************************


End file.
